


White Noise

by ninetystars



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Galaxy Garrison, Happy Ending, M/M, Mystery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25249693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninetystars/pseuds/ninetystars
Summary: He wonders how the great Keith Kogane was able to perfect his run on his first simulator practical with nothing more than a bored expression and a tired sigh.He wonders, though with less admittance, what the great pilot of the Garrison is doing with his life right at this moment.Something strange is happening, and Lance finds himself at the centre of it.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 68
Kudos: 273
Collections: Just some pretty nice fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my friend Shebo for proof reading and generally motivating me to get this finished. u a true hoe my bro :')
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

The room filters none of the sunlight that the summer day bares, but brings in all of its heat. The leather Lance is sitting on is hot and uncomfortable, and he hears the squeaks of shoes and idle chatter of his other classmates as they fidget in their spots. The heat is getting to them all.

Lance’s knuckles pale as he holds onto the plastic in front of him.

“Ready, Cadet 09?” Iverson’s harsh voice rings out through the humid air. Lance’s grip tightens.

“Born ready, sir,” he replies, quick and with much more confidence than he feels he has. It’s a skill he’s perfected over the years.

He hears the automated voice of the simulator, telling him that he may begin. He can feel himself tense his jaw as he grits his teeth. This is, collectively, their fourth time on the simulator. This is, individually, his seventh run.

He won’t fail this time.

He puts in all of his strength as he pushes the controllers on either side of his simulator chair forwards, and he begins the mission.

***

He wonders how the great Keith Kogane was able to perfect his run on his first simulator practical with nothing more than a bored expression and a tired sigh.

He wonders, though with less admittance, what the great pilot of the Garrison is doing with his life right at this moment.

***

The Garrison, for lack of a better set of words, is like a well organised, tightly secured box.

Grey concrete walls greet the students and professors every long hallway they walk through, every corner they take. The colour and consistency remains the same, from the astrophysics department to the student quarters. A box, through and through. Barely any ways in, and even fewer ways out.

The student quarters are much more accommodating, if not for the fact that they feel more lived in than the cold walls of the lecture rooms.

However, it’s still not home.

So maybe that’s why Lance doesn’t find himself strolling back to his room.

Twenty minutes after his lesson, he’s sitting at the roof of one of the buildings. He may not have left the box, but he has a damn good view of it.

The summer breeze ruffles the hair that rests on his forehead, and he tightens the hold on his legs that he’s folded into his chest.

The roof is grimy and dirty, with spots of green fungus littered on some of the rusted railings. It’s a poorly maintained area, quietly forgotten, and Lance finds this place more of a home than his small room ever was.

But then that begs the question, what is a home to Lance McClain?

His phone doesn’t work up here. It had surprised him the first time he’d tried to call his mother, what with him being at the highest point in the Garrison, but it’s something he quickly came to terms with. Despite what his friends might think, Lance does need his time to disconnect.

He’s been needing it more and more these past few months, but no one has commented on it.

He lets his head fall lightly on his knees.

He’d failed the simulator. _Again_.

Hunk had rested his hand on his shoulder, eyes soft with pity, but his gentle words of encouragement were ringing on deaf ears.

Despite this, Lance had worn a smile, big and fake and wrong, but it was convincing. He knows how to be convincing when he needs to be.

He skillfully excused himself. Assured his friend that everyone had their rough patches, that this was merely a steppingstone in the grand adventure that was his life. He wonders when these words eventually became lies that he no longer believed in.

He’s a good pilot. This is a fact that even Iverson has to acknowledge. But something within him has shifted in its balance, leaving Lance feeling off kilter and wrong. It’s like there’s a constant bad taste in his mouth, and it’d be easy to chalk it up to a dodgy dinner or lack of sleep or something _rational_.

But there’s nothing rational to it. Four months ago, as far as Lance is aware, his life felt altered in a way where he feels in every action he performs, in every word he says, in every breath he takes. Something has shifted and he cannot find the words to explain this change he feels.

So he doesn’t try to.

Instead, he keeps practising and failing at the pilot simulator practicals, and endures Iverson’s lectures spurred by anger on how a top pupil has fallen through the ranks. He’d be more affected by his words if he cared about what Iverson thought in the first place.

He picks the skin at the sides of his nails. A terrible habit, but it’s become an unconscious one in recent times. Keeps his mind focused when he feels it falling apart.

He hears the voices of a crowd below him, their chatter dancing through the summer breeze, loud enough that Lance feels like he’s in the heart of it all. Yet, he feels more alone than ever before.

He’s not sure how long he stays out there for. Could be thirty minutes or three hours. The days are so long now, it’s difficult to tell. He’s not sure if this time alone was what he needed, but he’s sure he’ll be seeing this rooftop again soon enough.

He leaves. Walks through the halls of the concrete box. Finds the room that they allocated to him at the beginning of the year. The accommodation suites are primarily for first year students, but other years who have nowhere else to go can stay, if there’s space. Lance is in his fourth year, rooming with a first year.

His name is Gabriel. They do not speak very often; either Gabriel is staying with his own first year friends or Lance is staying with Hunk. Hunk lives with his girlfriend, Shay, so Lance tries his best to leave them to the privacy of their own home, but Lance has grown up in a house full of people. Sometimes he needs to feel the warmth of people who care about him.

Today, apparently, is not one of those times.

He lies upright on his bed.

Gabriel isn’t here. He checks the time on his phone; eight in the evening. If he’s not back by now, then past experience tells him that he most likely will not be coming back at all. Another night alone.

His phone vibrates. A message from Allura.

_(20:09)_

_You okay?_

He reads the two words. Reads them again.

The question of the century.

Is he okay?

He’s not sure he knows.

_(20:13)_

_Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?_

The words are lies, but they’re easier to send through the tips of his fingers than the curl of his tongue.

_(20:14)_

_Hunk told me about your simulator score._

_(20:14)_

_You sure everything’s okay? You can talk to me._

In the beginning of his first year, Lance was sure that his heart would forever belong to Allura. She was smart, funny and beautiful. She laughed at his jokes sometimes, and he’d think, yeah. This girl is the one.

But then she dated other people. And then he dated other people.

One year ago, during an end of year party, the two had shared a kiss.

It was a good kiss. Allura is a good kisser, which should surprise no one; she’s perfect at most things she does.

But that was all it was. A press of lips. A shared contact of heat.

They held hands for a week, tried to spend time with one another as a couple. They went on a date. He listened to her, and she listened to him, and by the end of the night, they both wore the same exact smile.

A thin lipped smile that didn’t reach either of their eyes.

_This isn’t working, is it?_

Allura had said it, because she does not shy away from the obstacles life throws at her. Deals with them head on, eyes tense and back posed. With all the eloquence of a queen. All Lance could do was silently agree.

_You’re my best friend. That won’t change._

There were no tears in her eyes, and Lance felt a tension he hadn’t realised he’s been holding this entire week of courtship finally release. Like he’d been holding his breath the whole time.

He felt relieved.

_That won’t change._

She was right. A week later, when Lance had flown back to Cuba for the summer, she had sent him a couple pictures of herself in two different outfits, asking which was the better option. He smiled as he gave his two cents, and was glad that Allura was always going to be a constant in his life.

A friend anyone would be lucky to have.

_(20:21)_

_I know. But I’m okay, really. Not even a simulator can bring me down._

A simulator can’t bring him down, but an abstract feeling at the pit of his stomach probably can.

_That won’t change._

But what if _he_ changes?

***

He can’t sleep.

He twists and he turns, feels his duvet cling on to him with desperation, and Lance feels ready to pull at his hair. He sits up with vigour, staring at the concrete wall opposite him.

It’s a hot night. He’s wearing long shorts but no shirt, so gets up and grabs a white shirt that’s been discarded on the back of his chair residing by the desk, as well as a thick jacket. Takes his room key and quietly makes his way through the concrete hallways as he seeks out his other home that isn’t a home.

He doesn’t know how exactly he discovered this pocket of a place. Just knows that during the darkest minutes of the night, the faint lights of Ursa Major can be seen, and it reminds Lance why he’s here in the first place.

He wants to live in the stars.

He lies his head down on his jacket. Not the most comfortable he’s ever been, but he can’t get this view in his room, so he’ll make do.

He quietly wonders why he gravitates to this place. If his mother found out how he’s been spending most of his days in isolation on a roof, she’d check his forehead for a fever and ask if he needed to go to the doctor.

The thought makes him smile. He misses his mom. Misses his brothers and sisters, his aunts and uncles, his grandparents and his cousins and his niece – his brother is yet to have a son. He misses the comfort of his home, his true home, and misses the moments he should have held on to tighter.

It’s a bittersweet sadness. Because he misses it all, he does, but there’s a pull to the stars that he feels thrum through his veins, and that pull is strong.

When he was seven, he had visited the beach as the night sky coated them like a cape. In his child’s mind’s eye, the transition was abrupt and without warning; he was having so much fun with his cousins, he didn’t _want_ to go home.

But as he turned to the group of adults, all seated around a white plastic table in their white plastic chairs, it seemed as though the change in the air had passed them by completely.

He remembers giggling and smiling, and in his moment of distraction, his cousin Leo had pushed him into the water. It was shallow, nothing he couldn’t handle, and his giggles grew louder.

He pushed himself up, granules of sand clinging onto his small hands, and he remembers shaking his hands so hard he thought they’d fly straight off.

And then he remembers looking down at the sea. He remembers how the sea, so blue earlier on in the day, now acted as a deep and dark mirror. It clumsily reflected the crescent moon, elongated its white light so that it was almost within reach. It made him look up, look at all the white little dots, and the longer he looked the more dots would appear.

He was no longer smiling.

He was in absolute awe.

So, at the age of seven, Lance McClain decided he would live amongst the stars.

Ursa Major is reminding him of that dream very clearly now, and it puts him at ease a little.

He rests his hands on either side of his body. Moves them in a way he would if he were making a snow angel. Wants to feel the rough gravel beneath his hands, let them lightly scratch at his palms.

He does this for ten minutes until a pattern of crevices within the gravel distracts him, and he lazily traces over it with his middle and ring finger. It’s strange; the crevices almost feel like curves.

He sits up. Gets his phone out. Turns on his flashlight and points it in the place where his hands once were.

His eyes widen slightly.

This wasn’t a random pattern at all.

There, carved awkwardly on the gravel.

 _40_ _ᵒ26’06.1”N 114_ _ᵒ42’12.6”W._

Coordinates?

***

Lance slowly heads back to his room, heads back to his bed.

He lies down. Stares at the ceiling.

What were coordinates doing there?

***

“I hope everyone is listening. Professor White explained it before, but these calculations are _essential_ in this course, so I hope- “

Why would someone take the tortuous time to carve coordinates in a place no one ever goes to? This didn’t feel like someone was trying to leave their mark, not like his old high school classmates when they thought that carving their initials on a tree was a way to maintain their legendary legacy for the future generations.

The coordinates, from what Lance could remember, looked old. The markings weren’t white like those of newly scratched surfaces. They looked worn in. Lance wonders how last night was his first time seeing it, but then remembers that it blended seamlessly into its surroundings. If he wasn’t actively looking for it, which he hadn’t, of course it would pass him by.

Whatever. They were old. A forgotten voice in a sea of forgotten people.

Weren’t they all?

***

“Cadet 14, you’re up.”

Thinking on it a bit more, maybe carving a set of coordinates wasn’t as weird as he first thought. This is a piloting institute, after all. They were all trained in reading coordinates, so it’s not like this is some abstract message.

He doesn’t remember the numbers very well, but he thinks that they point to a place that isn’t too far from the Garrison.

And that’s what Lance is finding the weirdest thing about it all.

***

“Hey, Lance. This is Pidge – she’s new. Transferred here last week. She’s in my mechanics class.”

Lance looks up, a friendly smile already plastered across his face. She looks young, much younger than a university student in their fourth year ought to be, but the institute is known for hoarding prodigies, so it doesn’t surprise him as much as it could have done.

He greets her, and she greets him, but there’s no smile in her voice, no brightness in her eyes.

Lance doesn’t take this too personally; the Garrison isn’t built to welcome students with comforting arms. Rather, it locks its arms around you until you’ve become a fully formed pilot.

It seems that she is aware of what exactly this place is. Certainly has more self-preservation than he had when he began his life here.

***

Surely, if someone carved a set of _coordinates_ into gravel, then they wanted someone to go looking for it.

Right?

***

A week passes. Two weeks pass.

As the days go on, the thought of the coordinates soon settles on the outskirts of his mind as the date of another simulator practical inches closer by, until he’s sitting on the uncomfortable black leather seat once more.

His palms are sweating and he feels it in the slide of his palms against the warm plastic, but he makes sure to hide any nerves he has with a wide and charming grin.

“Cadet 09. Are you ready?”

“Hit play, Professor.”

“Let’s hope you don’t embarrass yourself this time, Cadet.”

“With that hat you’re wearing, I’m not the one who should be worried about embarrassment.”

Laughter fills the room, the type of laughter that is born from surprise and shock, and Iverson’s eyebrows raise in anger, mouth beginning to part. Lance resists the urge to wince; he knows what Iverson will most probably say.

_How dare you! May I remind you that we kicked out a previous student who had disciplinary issues, and we’re not afraid to do so again. Don’t follow in his footsteps._

He’s said it before, when Keith’s expulsion was a new scar everyone was trying to acclimatise to. The words had cut straight through him, and the smirk Iverson wore when he saw the impact it had on him made Lance feel small and weak and pathetic. Like that was all he was; an expendable replacement.

But, in the end, it was the best pilot of the Garrison who was expendable.

They kicked him out, made it a public affair. The shouts of the Dean of the institute echoed through the concrete box, and Lance remembers the silence that followed when Keith had walked his final steps out of the building, until he was gone. Never to be seen again.

His gut had felt like static for a whole week afterwards. Like nothing was really real.

Everyone else seemed to be in a similar state. Keith…he wasn’t exactly adored by everyone in his year, but he was a staple in the Garrison. Set the fastest simulator record in just his first year, and was notoriously known for the numerous fights he got into. So his loss…it was almost tangible.

Iverson used this, of course. Made everyone work twice as hard, emphasising the power he had over them, should they think to step out of line like that _other_ fighter pilot had done.

_Don’t follow in his footsteps._

Times have changed. Time has allowed Lance to see the real Iverson; he hides behind the power that other people hold, grasps on to the little crumbs that he can reach. His torment over his students is pitiful, and Lance refuses to let that man’s words affect him, make him feel like a disposable pawn with nothing to offer.

The laughter instantly dies down when Iverson speaks. “You are getting on my last _nerves_ , McClain. Either finish your turn or get _out_ of my sight.”

He frowns a little, genuinely surprised at his choice of words, but he decides not to question it. He shrugs, mutters a half-hearted ‘ _sorry’_ and gets back into his piloting position.

When he ultimately fails his mission, he can’t say he feels all too bad about it. Not when Iverson doesn’t even bat him an eye.

At least he got out of this month’s lecture on how much worse of a pilot he’s become.

Well, from Iverson, anyway.

“Hey, buddy,” Hunk says to him that lunch hour.

They’re sitting outside, underneath a tree in the middle of campus, surrounded by lime green grass and wild daisies. Lance likes daises. He thinks, you could probably run to the ends of the earth and still find a patch of daisies growing strong.

For some reason, the image of Keith runs through his mind.

He blinks the thought away.

“What’s up, my man?”

His friend looks at him. His eyes are filled with worry, and it makes Lance’s skin itch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” It’s a weak question, he knows it is, but he desperately does not want to have this conversation. So he directs his concentration onto the grass, where his fingers card effortlessly through it. Pulls at a few of the strands.

“Come on, Lance, you know what. That’s, like, your fifth flunk of the semester. You _never_ flunk the simulator practicals.”

Hunk has a big heart. He’d learnt this during their second year, when they were living together and Hunk insisted on making dinner for the both of them at least once a week. He knew Lance was a terrible cook, and took it upon himself to help his friend out.

But he also knows that his friend is not patient. If he wanted answers, he’d fight to get them. In a way, they balance each other out – Lance lived in a house full of people. Patience was a necessary trait for survival.

And, for that fact alone, Lance knows he has to give Hunk something. So he says, “I’ve just been feeling homesick recently.”

His quiet admission isn’t necessarily a lie; he does miss home. It’s just one part of a complicated puzzle that Lance has found himself in.

It seems to tide Hunk over, because his friend’s eyes begin to soften. “I know the feeling,”

The heat of the sun rests on the skin of his arms. It’s enveloping him in a coat of warmth, and he feels his upper lip begin to sweat. Hunk continues to speak after a moment of quiet. “You know, if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

_You can talk to me._

He’s surrounded by golden people and golden hearts.

So what the hell is his problem?

“Thanks, Hunk.” The sincerity in his voice is genuine, possibly the first genuine thing he’s said in a while.

Hunk smiles, then swiftly changes the topic, begins to talk about his classes and Shay and anything else that comes to mind. Lance leans back on the trunk of the tree and lets the words flow between them.

He misses home.

But he thinks he also misses something else.

***

Pidge joins them after a while.

She seems a lot more comfortable than when he saw her last week. Even shares a couple of jokes with them here and there.

It’s a lovely afternoon, all things considered.

***

Another week passes.

He’s drawn back to the rooftop.

He’s been sitting here for the better part of twenty minutes. He doesn’t know exactly what he expected. There, laying in front of where he’s sitting crossed legged with his back bent forwards, is the scratched-in numbers.

He takes a picture of it this time. The sun is still well overhead, so the contrast is heavy, which is good in terms of getting a crisp picture out of it.

But that’s all he’s got. He’s not a detective, he’s barely a piloting student. He can’t read who’s handwriting it is, or what the little dents around the group of characters could say about this illusive stranger who’s defiled this rooftop. He can just about read the coordinates and where they lead.

He’s sure of it now, though. They point somewhere south of here, but the numbers are close enough to the Garrison’s coordinates that it’s definitely within driving distance. But as far as Lance is aware, and he had to be when he applied here all those years ago, the Garrison only has one campus. And he’s living in it.

All clues are pointing to the notion that someone hid something in this location. Like a treasure map.

Or maybe this is just Lance’s brain, always thinking big and fantastical, speaking.

He’s not a detective. Just a guy trying to live a child’s dream.

But…following a treasure map?

That about fits this criteria, too.

He thinks about telling Hunk and Allura; they are two of the smartest people he knows, so they’d definitely be a big help.

He also knows that going to a place that no one’s heard of, all alone, is a reckless move. Though it’s easy to mistake his aloofness for recklessness, Lance is not impulsive. He is patient and thinks before any potential move he may make. It’s how he got into the Garrison, after all.

Suddenly, he gets struck with a type of intensity he cannot name.

He _can’t_ tell them. Something whispers to him, a collection of whispers, until he’s suffocated by a single thought. It’s an innate feeling, something bigger than him, and it’s telling him, no, _ordering_ him to keep this a secret. It runs deeper than a feeling. It runs deeper than himself.

He takes a heavy breath, as if his head was submerged under water. Blinks so hard that he can hear it.

That was weird.

He shakes his head.

Maybe he’ll-

He’ll leave this whole thing. Yeah. For a while, at least.

Let’s face it. This isn’t him.

He’s just…some guy.

He leaves the roof and makes his way to his next lecture. He’s a half hour early. There’s another person sitting a few rows ahead, scrolling mindlessly through their phone.

Maybe he should just focus on his studies. He’s already failing one module; he can’t afford to be failing them all.

When Allura finds him twenty minutes later, she voices her surprise. _‘You’re here early’_ she says, and Lance is playfully defensive, argues that he’s _always_ here on time, and the banter continues as if Lance can’t feel the heavy drum of his heart thrum through his ears.

The lecture goes on, and he doesn’t register a single word.

***

It’s two in the morning. He hasn’t been able to sleep, not for a second. He lies idly in his bed, his body as still as the calming waters of a lake, but his mind resembles those of the storming sea.

He slowly sits up.

He can feel the heaviness in the bags of his eyes, and that alone tells him that he should lie back down, try to get at least _some_ sleep. He hasn’t had the best of nights recently, after all. He needs all the rest he can get, even if he has to fight for it.

But the thought of lying down with nothing else but the silence that breeds his ever growing thoughts makes him grimace, and he knows in that moment that he needs to get out.

He could…

Maybe -

 _No_.

No.

He’s just some guy. He’s not a detective. He needs to focus on his studies.

His daily mantra.

Focus on his studies.

He gets out of his bed, puts on a black shirt and grabs his room key. He checks both ends of the darkened hallway before he begins walking in the direction of the main hall.

His steps are light and his ears are on alert, but he’s calm and he’s steady. This isn’t his first rodeo; he could probably do this in his sleep by now.

He reaches the hall. The doors squeak when they open, but it’s two in the morning and the main hall is far away from any of the student rooms, so he doesn’t worry about it too much. He has one goal in mind, so it’s easy for everything else to fall away to the side-lines.

There, in the middle of the room, is the simulator.

This will be his ninth attempt at the eighteenth level of the piloting mission.

When he sits on the chair, alone with nothing but the calming voice of the simulator, he feels himself lay back. His stance is comfortable, as if this were merely a game, and maybe that’s how Lance _should_ be playing it. Not something that he has to prove himself with, but a game that holds no further intrinsic value.

He’s beginning to loath the smell of leather.

He’s about to set the mission off, begin his descent in what will likely be another failure, but the familiar sound of the croaking doors blares through the room, and it strikes Lance into a stillness he didn’t know he was capable of.

He holds his breath, as if that is what is dictating his fate, the loudness of a breath he takes, but he holds it nonetheless.

But then he realises; two of the many lights are open, leaving Lance in his own makeshift spotlight. His presence is obvious; this is not a situation where he can hide.

He slowly turns his head. This could, after all, just be another wandering student. He can deal with that, easily.

But the dark silhouette is big, too big to be a first year student. The closer the figure gets to him, the more obvious it is that this is not a student, until the sharp face of one Takashi Shirogane is staring at him.

He stands with his arms crossed, but his face is not unkind. Not quite a professor but not quite anything less, Shirogane seems to hold a lot of authority. Or maybe that’s just the aura he exudes, because it’s difficult to not want to look down shamefully at the ground and apologise for any wrongdoings committed.

Or maybe it’s his skill that intimidates everyone into staying in line.

His skill is incomparable, though Keith was a strong contender. Where Keith excels in speed, Shiro has mastered everything else.

Lance remembers, in one of the evenings where prospective students were invited to explore the campus, when Shiro had held a demonstration, had taken all future students out into the field and showed them what a real pilot could do.

His handle on a hoverbike was easy and nimble. He was quick, and some of the moves he pulled, in hindsight, were rough and dirty, but he was able to make it look like a dance of elegance and grace.

He was a freshly graduated student at the time, his skill already close to the highest ranking professors. He has only improved in the four years Lance has been attending this institute.

So, coming face to face with him is certainly an experience Lance didn’t expect he would be having any time soon.

“It’s 2am, Cadet,” he says, his voice strong despite the time of night.

“That it is, sir.”

“Classes won’t be starting for at least another six hours. I hope there’s a reasonable explanation for why you’re here.”

Lance doesn’t bite his tongue fast enough, because he simply replies, “Surely it’s obvious?”

A moment passes before Shirogane’s wide eyed surprise shifts into a low chuckle, and he begins to shake his head.

Lance silently exhales, glad his quick mouth hasn’t landed him in trouble for today.

“You sound like someone I know,” the mirth is heavy in Shiro’s voice, but there’s a hint of sadness behind the words.

_Don’t follow in his footsteps._

“Who?”

Shiro’s head shoots up to look at him and, from what Lance can tell, several different emotions flit through him. It’s too early in the morning to be able to look and dissect the scene that’s playing in front of him, but he can easily recognise confliction when it’s practically staring him in the face.

“I – I don’t– “

Something’s wrong.

It’s not that Lance doesn’t know the answer to his own question. That’s not it at all.

But the sadness behind Shiro’s eyes runs deeper than just missing his former protégé. There’s confusion swirled in the sorrow, and that’s what Lance is trying to push at. He’s not completely sure why, though.

“Anyone I know?” he tries to goad, but it has the opposite effect, because Shiro seems to snap out of whatever trance he had entered.

“It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be here after hours, you know this, Cadet.”

Lance resists the urge to groan. He was _so_ close.

But then he thinks, _so close to what?_

He’s finding it hard to focus.

“Won’t happen again, sir,” he says mechanically.

What the _hell_ was going on with him?

***

Keith may not have had many friends in his year, but Lance distinctly remembers the mentee role he adopted when Shiro took him under his wing. He remembers this because he was incredibly jealous of it; Shiro was kind of his hero, after all.

Though it is true that Shiro is a sort-of professor at the institute, his eyes are too kind to fill the role of a disinterested instructor, focusing more on his pay-check than his piloting students.

So why did it seem like Takashi Shirogane had forgotten his former protégé?

***

“Early to lectures _again_?” Allura asks incredulously as she takes her seat beside him.

Lance gives her a shaky grin. “You know me.”

She either doesn’t notice the unnerve that has wracked through him, or she doesn’t dare to comment on it. Allura is intuitive, so it most probably is the latter, but Lance is grateful for the lack of probing. He just needs to focus on his studies, after all.

He fiddles with the pencil in his hand so thoroughly that he accidentally doesn’t pay attention to the lecture. Again.

***

“Do you know who holds the Garrison’s fastest simulator record?” he inquires during their lunch hour.

Hunk looks up to the sky in thought before shaking his head. “No. Who?”

Something is very wrong.

***

He’s sitting in the back of the classroom. Iverson is at the front, stern face as cold as ever and eyes even more so, and has been going over theory for almost an hour.

Lance’s gaze has been unfocused the moment the professor entered the room. This isn’t incredibly uncommon for him during an Iverson class, but this may be the first time he’s been so bold in his lack of attention to him.

How could Hunk forget?

“McClain, I will not be going over this again, so I hope for your own sake that you are writing this all down.”

He gives a non-committal hum without meeting the instructor’s gaze.

Lance remembers talking about the record breaking time Keith had pulled off for at _least_ a week, if not longer. It’s not just something Hunk would forget. If anything, Hunk would tease him about how he’d never be _able_ to forget, not with how much Lance had constantly brought it up.

“ _McClain_.”

He hums again.

Maybe he’s deepening a problem that doesn’t exist. It has been two years or so, and his friend has had other things to focus on. Not everyone obsesses over the types of small details that Lance does. Maybe-

A thundering _thud_ vibrates from the tips of his elbows to the tips of his hair, and he violently startles backwards.

Iverson had hit the front of his desk and is now standing in front of him, mouth clenching in anger, and it snaps Lance right out of his thoughts. Silence befalls his classmates as they watch in their seats.

“I have had it up to _here_ with you, Cadet. The Galaxy Garrison exists to mould you students into the world’s finest pilots, and yet your being here is an absolute _mockery_ of this institution. I swear, I-“

Lance has had _enough_. He stands up and levels with him, his palms hitting his desk with a loud slap. “You’re what? Scared I’m turning into Cadet _Kogane_?”

“Kogane?”

His face is reminiscent of Shiro’s.

The slightest touch of confusion.

Iverson quickly collects himself. “I don’t know what your game is, Cadet, but you better think very carefully about your next move.”

His voice is deep and intimidating, but Lance has moved past the point of caring.

His next move, huh?

_Don’t follow in his footsteps._

Lance had a pretty good idea of what his next moves should be.

It was about time he was a bit more reckless, anyway.

He quietly packs up his things, which isn’t much; just his Garrison orange jacket, a few notes and his bag, and walks out of the class, making sure to send a few dashing smiles to the awestruck students watching on.

He feels brave. Brave enough to try and get some answers.

***

He storms into the cafeteria, where he scans the place for someone.

Someone small. Someone already wary of this place.

He spots her soon enough, residing with Hunk and another person Lance is much less familiar with. He thinks her name is Hiba.

He sits himself in the seat available by Hunk, but doesn’t bother to greet them. Just gets straight to business.

“You guys know a Keith Kogane, right?”

No room for interpretation. No room for ambiguity.

Do they remember him, yes or no.

He’ll even go as far as to accept if they’ve ever _heard_ of him.

He just needs to know he’s not losing his mind.

“Keith Kogane?” Hunk repeats.

The question in his voice tells Lance everything he needs to know, but he needs concrete proof.

“Yes or no, Hunk.”

Hunk looks at him, _really_ looks at him, as if to gouge out whether his friends is joking around with him. When he doesn’t see any evidence that he is, he slowly shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve heard of him. Is he new?”

It feels like the world is slowly zeroing in on him, and his head feels a little dizzy. He’s finding it hard to breathe, but he soldiers on. He needs more than this.

He turns to Pidge. Hunk had gushed about the extent of this kid’s genius, so Lance does not need to question whether she is fit for the job he is going to ask of her. “Can you search his files? In the Garrison’s database?”

“Lance, what’s this about?” Hunk’s asking this, but Lance’s gaze is solely on Pidge.

She looks right back at him, tense and serious, as if she can understand the weight of this favour.

Something that runs deeper than the both of them.

“I can do it,” she says finally, and Lance feels his chest rest a little before she continues with a, “but I won’t do it for free.”

Figures.

“What do you want?”

“A favour.”

“Shoot.”

Pidge smirks. “I’ll cash it in due time.” It’s cryptic, but Lance isn’t in any position to argue with her. He nods.

A tense silence falls on the table, and Lance begins to feel bad. Hiba is trying to discreetly look at him, but her gaze instantly wanders away when he looks in her direction. He doesn’t blame her; Lance can only image how he looks right now.

So he gets up. Leaves, despite Hunk calling his name a couple of times. Finds himself walking to his room, his not-home. Lies down in his bed. Stares at the ceiling and tries to get a hold of his bearings.

His head’s hurting. The side of his temple pulses, and the pain extends to the rest of his head, until it hurts to open his eyes.

He’s reminded of the whispers he’s not sure he didn’t imagine on that night on the rooftop, many weeks ago now.

Something strange is happening.

And yeah, Lance is just some guy.

But so is Keith. They’re both just a couple of people, and Lance isn’t going to let that thought stop him from figuring out what the fuck is going on.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next time he opens his eyes, the sun has set and the pain residing in his head has rescinded a little. He looks at his phone and finds an unread message from Pidge, sent an hour ago.

_(20:49)_

_There is no record of a Keith Kogane having ever attended the Galaxy Garrison._

He stares at the message for what feels like hours.

Not the answer he wanted, but the answer he expected nonetheless.

He quickly switches apps, looks into his photo folder.

Looks at the photo he took that fateful day.

 _40_ _ᵒ26’06.1”N 114_ _ᵒ42’12.6”W._

He’s not sure how he reaches the conclusion, or even _why_ , but when he does, it’s feels as if Lance has been gifted another jigsaw piece for his never-ending puzzle.

He’s certain that these coordinates will give him some answers.


	2. Chapter 2

He waits.

He waits until the late days of July reach them, when the academic year has come to a close and most people have left campus to return home for the short summer break they have been gifted with.

He has delayed his return to Cuba by a week. His mother had voiced her despair, but Lance had reassured her that he’d call every day he’d be missing back at home, which seemed to put her at ease.

He hasn’t told anyone the whole reason why he’s staying. When Allura and Hunk had asked, he’d been vague in his answering, mentioned that he had some extra work he needed to busy himself with, due to all of the failed simulator practicals. This is not a lie; he’s been graced with a final chance to complete a project and receive extra credit, which will save him from failing the year.

He just neglected to mention that, on top of this, he would also be investigating something he doesn’t really understand. It wouldn’t bode well with them, to say the least.

He currently has spent four full days working on his extra credit project. It’s difficult, having to sit and focus for so many hours on end, but it helps that practically no one is around to aid his distraction.

And he eventually does it. Crosses every t and marks every i, figuratively speaking. Signs and sends off the digital file. Slants back in his seat and lets out a rewarding sigh.

Now he’s ready to get some answers.

He carefully places his laptop on his desk, then hastily begins packing for his night of exploration. Makes sure to carry a torch, some rope, a small toolkit, a pocket-knife, and a couple of other things he thinks will be useful. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to be expecting, but the basic survival module they had to take during their second year has him at least semi comfortable in thinking he’s prepared for the hours ahead.

He checks his phone. Full battery. He has a portable charger tucked safely away within his bag as well. Just in case.

It’s the next part of his half-baked plan that has him biting his lip in consideration. Because yeah, the coordinates point somewhere near to the Garrison, but that’s taking into account that this building is practically in the middle of nowhere; the closest grocery store is a forty minute walk away. There isn’t exactly a thriving taxi service anywhere nearby, and Lance’s car is back home.

So the only mode of transportation he can logically think of is…well.

A hoverbike.

A Garrison issued hoverbike. The same ones they forbid anyone from touching, unless you’re a professor or if you’re in a class with one. There was only one other person who dared to disobey that rule.

His stomach drops at the thought of the other boy, reckless and careless in his bid to steal a hoverbike. And actually succeeded in doing so.

It’s not an unpleasant feeling.

It must be around midnight when he saunters out of the building and down to the hoverbike garage, where all of the bikes are locked and sealed away.

Card access only.

 _Fuck_.

In hindsight, this was probably something he should have been equipped for.

He stands there for a while before he finally collapses, sits his back against the door and lets his head lightly bang against it. He looks up at the stars. Ursa Minor has made an appearance tonight.

The longer he sits there, the more ridiculous he feels. He’s embarrassed at how serious he had become, embarrassed by the thought that he believed he could actually pull this off all on his own. With barely any resources to his name.

He sits out there a while longer. The night air is cool, but it’s still summer, so the wind that passes him doesn’t make him shiver to his core. It’s nice.

He checks his phone. He’s been sitting here for about a half hour. He now has the energy to smile, a little ruefully, before he carefully lifts himself up and dejectedly makes his way back to his room.

However, just before he steps a foot out of line, he hears a shout a short distance away from him.

“Cadet?”

It’s the questioning voice of Takashi Shirogane.

“What are you doing out here?” he continues.

Lance is just as confused as he is as he watches his figure inch closer and closer towards him. He can only think to awkwardly laugh, because it’s late and a good excuse hasn’t come to him yet. “I could ask you the same question.”

Shiro glares at him for a beat, but answers suspiciously. “I work here.”

Well, yeah.

Of course that would be his answer.

Lance resists the urge to wince.

“Makes sense.”

Shiro appears to be waiting for him to carry on talking, and rolls his eyes when he realises that that will not be the case. Lance has a feeling that this man’s patience is about as thin as Hunk’s.

“Why are you by the hoverbikes?”

Lance takes a moment before he responds. Realistically, he should tell him a half truth, that his presence on campus is due to the extra work he’s been loaded with. That he was getting bored of the library and it’s a nice night out. None of these statements are false.

But if he’s still holding onto his thinning string of hope, the hope that this night will end at least semi-successfully, then he needs to think his next words carefully.

His eyes almost glisten when he does.

“Surely it’s obvious?”

Recognition brightens through Shiro’s features, even if it is dimmed and supressed. When Lance sees the smallest movement of his mouth tilting upwards, he knows that he’s said the right thing.

“Why do I keep finding you in places you’re not supposed to be?” Shiro’s arms cross placatingly over his chest, but any trace of anger is not there.

“Terrible habit of mine,” Lance grins, and it’s the same grin he sends his mother when he knows he’s being cheeky. Always earns him a soft smile in return. Shiro doesn’t give him a soft smile, per say, but the tension between them eases a little.

“Garrison rules state that no student can ride these bikes during school hours, let alone when the academic year is over.” Shiro states it as if he were reading the words off a book, trying to resume his role as professor. Though his tone isn’t as disciplinary as it could be, Lance recognises that this is a man just trying to do his job.

“The rules also state that students can use the bikes if in the presence of a professor.”

“That not quite how- “

“Come on,” Lance whines, “what’s the point of the school spending all that money on them, only to leave them to rot?”

When Lance watches for his reaction, he sees Shiro take a step back.

The man looks disorientated.

He recognises it as the look from that night in the simulator.

“Am I reminding you of someone?” Lance asks, now that he knows what he’s looking for.

Shiro snaps up, his fingertips resting on the side of his temple. “How did you-?”

“Lucky guess,” he leans against the garage with a newfound confidence. Looking at Shiro, he realises how Keith was able to steal a hoverbike in the first place.

So Lance continues, “If you help me out, I’ll get it back here before dawn. No one will be the wiser.” It’s a bold declaration, a bold demand, and it’s bold enough that he thinks Shiro will respect it.

When Shiro gets a hold of himself, he stares at Lance like he’s grown another head. Lance keeps his ground and stares back, even going so far as to raise his brow. Shiro was a student here too, his graduation only a handful of years ago, so he must know the student experience.

And, that day he demonstrated all those tricks on the hoverbike. No way did he learn that from the eight hours a year the institute allows them to practise on.

“You get two hours,” he says after what feels like an eternity. His card is in the slot between his index and middle finger, and he waves it ever so slightly. “A minute over, and I report you to the Dean, got it?”

Lance smiles so hard he feels it in his cheeks, knows that his teeth and gums are on full display, and his heart begins to pick up its pace. He snatches the card from Shiro and looks at it as if it were his own, eyes wide and gleaming. Shiro huffs, and Lance doesn’t need to look up to know that he’s heavily rolling his eyes.

When he slots the card in, the card reader beeps twice before turning green on the third beep, and the double doors open slowly and automatically. It truly is a sight to behold. He wastes no time in running into the garage to get exactly what he needs.

When he walks out a few minutes later with his hoverbike and helmet, Shiro is standing by the door and tapping his foot impatiently.

“God knows why I’m doing this,” he mutters, probably to himself, but Lance hears it anyway. He then speaks up. “I want that card back at my office by tomorrow. And remember: two hours.”

“Two hours,” Lance repeats, then nods to him. Shiro nods back, and almost turns away, but Lance shouts his name before he can do so. “Quick question. Do you know a Keith Kogane?”

Shiro freezes at the name, his mouth gaping open very slightly.

“I…don’t.”

The words are uncertain, as if he doesn’t believe them himself, and that’s the final push Lance didn’t know he needed. He throws one more smile his way, small and he hopes reassuring, but distance probably obscures that detail.

And so, he puts on his helmet, and drives into the darkness.

***

He can feel the biting wind blow his jacket behind him with great force as he rides. It makes him feel bare, makes him feel free, and he remembers why there’s always a buzz in the air when it’s that time of year where they get to fly out on the bikes.

The speed of the vehicle, the impulsivity that is still so new to Lance, the sound of the wind hitting harshly against his helmet; it all weighs down on him, until he can’t help the small giggle that escapes him, which soon evolves into a maniacal and completely shameless one. He starts cheering into the night air, practically shouting, lets out all of the pent up emotion he’d apparently concealed within himself.

He must look so incredibly strange, and he doesn’t care. Just keeps riding and laughing, lets the euphoria flush over him for the first time in months. It almost doesn’t feel real.

After thirty minutes of travel, his GPS tracker begins to make some noise, indicating that they’re close to their destination. He begins to slow down, silently mourning the thoughtless speed he had maintained throughout this journey. But all that is quickly forgotten when he looks up, looks ahead.

It’s far, and the darkness that surrounds him doesn’t help his visibility, but there. About a mile out. He can spot the shape of what he thinks is a small house.

This _must_ be it.

He can’t help it. He steps a little more forcefully on the accelerator and leans into the controls of the bike, lets the speed overwhelm him one last time before he has to get off the bike and enter a reality he’s trying to comprehend.

The adrenaline pumps through him, a familiar feeling that he’s missed incredibly so. But the experience is short-lived, because he eventually finds himself slowing down all the way until he’s parking somewhere sloppily a few meters away. He takes his helmet off and places it delicately onto the seat of the hoverbike. He tries to flatten the hair that has inevitable been pressed into a vertical position. It’s a lost cause.

He sighs and looks down at the small GPS device, before looking up at the structure that stands in front of him. The coordinates match.

It’s a modest house, he thinks to himself. Wonders what on earth a house is doing out here in the middle of a desert, and why someone would want to lead a possible stranger here. Logically, this whole scenario should irk him.

But there’s a feeling. A distant feeling that isn’t fear. It’s stopping him from turning away and never looking back.

He takes a tentative step forwards.

To the side, Lance spots a Garrison hoverbike, identical to his own, but it looks _rough_. Parts of the exterior have peeled off, a lot of the paint has been scratched off, and he sees nests sitting atop it and weeds growing through the wheels. It looks abandoned. He turns his gaze back to the house.

The more he looks at it, the more he thinks it’s probably better described as a big shack than a house. There’s a porch out front, and a couple of large windows looking into a room, but it’s not a house. It’s beautifully made, he acknowledges that, but there’s a roughness to it. The wood is slightly miss-shaped, just slightly off. He could mark it off as an artistic decision, but seeing as there are no other similar houses lying around, he comes to the conclusion that some dedicated soul had decided to set up camp here.

After a while of just staring, Lance can feel the beat of his heart reach his throat. It’s strong, he thinks that if he places his hand on his throat he’d be able to feel it pulse outwards, but he tries to remain calm. Shakily takes his phone out and readies the Garrison Emergency Service number on his phone. He’s left the bike running, so if needs be he can make a quick getaway, and he has his pocketknife equipped on his body.

It’s an incredibly impulsive and stupid plan, but he’s prepared and ready to make what could be the biggest mistake of his life.

One step.

A couple more.

Each of his steps take an immense effort to make, yet his heart seems to sing the closer he gets to the shack. He’s a walking contradiction right now, and the eventual balanced out feeling that wracks through him is nausea.

He’s there.

He’s at the door.

He breathes so heavily through his nose that he can hear it. Now or never.

He knocks.

It’s a shy knock, the type of knock reminiscent to the type Lance and his cousins used to make as children on his neighbour’s door before running away, snickering into the warm air of a Cuban summer. Quick and fleeting.

But Lance isn’t running away this time. He stands his ground.

Five minutes pass. No one opens the door. He knocks again, though a little louder.

Nothing.

He thinks, three is universally a lucky number. He’s not really sure why he thinks this, or whether this is even statistically true, but he thinks that if this knock is a bust, then he’ll just leave. He knows he’s gotten so far, that it could be seen as a waste, but Lance is still a young man who has a trip back home in three days. No way is he risking his life before he can see his mother again.

So he knocks one final time. This one is more forceful than the others, and maybe that’s what does it. Because, as soon as his fist connects with the rough wooden texture of the door, it creeks open, as if it were never locked.

He takes a step inside, a small step that’s barely a step at all. Yet there’s still a strong smell of dust and disuse in the air, reminds him of an old storage unit he visited with his uncle many years ago. Lance is almost confident in saying that this shack has also been abandoned for some time.

He reaches to hastily open the zip of his bag and searches for something, until his hand finally collides with a mass of plastic and he’s pulling out his torch. He hits the side of it once he switches it on, and a circular yellow light blinks to life.

He flashes the light radially around himself. On the walls on either side of the door are pictures. Paintings, really – they depict the sunny desert landscapes that lay in front of the shack. When he takes a closer look, his breath almost gets caught in his throat.

They’re beautiful.

The paint on each of the canvas’ almost stick out, like if he were to stroke the pads of his fingertips on them he’d be able to feel each brush stroke made. He can only see what the small torch restricts him to, but the colours stand out in a casual sort of way, bold and effortless. Part of him wants to stay here and look at these pieces forever.

But he can’t. He came here with a goal in mind, and he can’t get side-tracked now.

He turns around and looks at the room he’s found himself in.

It’s messy.

There are large table sized cloths scattered around the room, some covering wooden aisles and furniture, and other’s lazing around on the ground. The ones on the ground are covered in splatters of paint, he sees.

But then something catches his eye, and if makes him forget everything in the world, everything in the universe.

Because there, laying dejectedly on what must be the arm of a sofa, is a jacket.

Scarlet red.

The torch in his hand becomes shaky, but he barely notices. There’s a stinging in his eyes, a stinging in his nose, and he feels his stomach completely drop, a drop so heavy that he has to struggle in keeping the rest of his body from completely toppling over.

The jacket.

 _Keith’s_ jacket.

Keith was here.

He’s not sure if the tear he feels streaming down his face is that of sorrow or relief. Maybe it’s both.

But then it really sinks in.

 _Keith was here_.

The boy who everyone forgot.

An abandoned item of clothing. Evidence that he _was_.

It snaps Lance out of it. Wipes at his face harshly with the side of his arm and a strong sense of determination washes over him, until it’s all he sees, all he breathes. Walks to the sofa and yanks the lifeless jacket off of it, holds it tightly in his hand. It’s a reassuring weight in his arms.

He continues his diligent search around the room. The walls are bare, save for the two paintings by the door, and then Lance starts to wonder if maybe _Keith_ was the illusive painter. He had been expelled about six months ago, he supposes. Probably needed something to fill the time, assuming that this was his place of residence during those months.

His eyes dart back to the wooden aisle, at the white sheet that’s covering the large canvas.

Suddenly, an ugly and unwanted thought whispers to him; _maybe this was the last painting he was working on._

The stinging in his nose returns, but he sniffs it away.

The canvas is hidden for a reason, and Lance truly does hate to invade someone’s privacy, but he’s already broken (sort of) and entered into this shack. What’s one more offense?

Plus, if this was something Keith was working on…he wants to see it.

He takes a deep breath.

Pulls the sheet away.

His eyes widen.

This…

This is not a painting.

“What the fuck?”

He whispers the words, more curious than anything else. Because this isn’t a painting, it’s not even a canvas.

It’s a board, marked up with different coloured strings all extending in different directions. It’s an evidence board.

He looks and he looks at it, but soon admits that he doesn’t understand it. The writing is in shorthand, so Lance can’t read it, and the photos and drawings appear to be hieroglyphics. It has him scrunching his brow in confusion as he backs away from the board slightly.

He puts the torch down on the ground, then takes his phone out of his pocket. Turns his flash on and takes a photo of the board. He may not know what it means right now, but maybe a more well-rested Lance will have some better luck.

He’s still looking at the board. It looks messy and unorganised, especially to the untrained eye, but Lance can’t help but think it also looks unfinished. Like there’s still one final part to the puzzle.

“So many puzzles,” he says.

“You can say that again.”

He huffs a laugh.

Blinks.

Wait.

That wasn’t him.

_That wasn’t him._

He spins around, hand already reaching into the pocket of his pants, reaching for his pocketknife. A newfound adrenaline circulates his veins, but he can’t see, he can’t fucking _see_. He fumbles to the ground, grabs onto the torch, shines it in his assailants face, thinks maybe if he blinds them that’ll give him an advantage, and-

He stops, pocketknife falling from his hand. He completely freezes. He thinks every part of his body, his heart, his organs, his limbs, have also stopped.

Because standing there in front of him, wearing a frown he’ll never forget, is Keith Kogane.

In the flesh.

“What the _fuck_?”

It’s not a whisper this time.

The boy freezes. “You can see me now?”

“ _Keith_?”

He’s still frozen.

Lance doesn’t know what else to say. Doesn’t know what else to do. Just keeps staring. He looks thin, and his hair’s grown out a little. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, as well as his signature pair of biker gloves. Seeing those gloves, of all things, settles Lance’s mind a little; even though he lies in the realm of the forgotten, Keith still finds a way to wear those damn gloves of his.

“What are you doing here?” Lance says after a period of silence, of neither of them moving from their spots.

“I live here.” His answer is short, curt, and it doesn’t tell Lance anything he wants to know.

“You _live_ here?” he continues, mainly to get a reaction. And he does.

“Yeah,” Keith retorts with a scowl before folding his arms, “didn’t you hear me the first time?”

Yep, this is _definitely_ the Keith he remembers.

_He remembers._

Does Keith know? He thinks that it’s probably insensitive to bring it up so brashly.

So he doesn’t. “I, uh, like what you’ve done with the place?”

“Thanks. Why did you take my jacket?”

Lance looks down at the bundle in his arms, then back at those indigo eyes. Keith’s face is a clean slate – no emotion, no question in his eyes, nothing. The only indication that Keith even cares is the tone of his voice.

“I don’t know,” Lance replies honestly. It was like a surge of emotion controlled his arms, and even now, being questioned, he’s finding it difficult to let go.

He lifts his arms in a gesturing manner. Keith looks on blankly.

Lance rolls his eyes, “Take it.”

Keith looks at his jacket. Slowly, so very slowly, he moves to take it, letting his guard down.

A cold shiver runs through Lance, a shiver so deep he feels it in the mass of his bones. A sense of dread fills him as soon as Keith makes contact with him, and he wants to jump away as if he just got shocked. The jacket in question crashes straight to the floor.

Keith is no longer standing there.

Correction; Keith is no longer _there_.

He turns around. Hesitantly calls out Keith’s name a couple of times. His voice echoes through the room, bounces off of no one but himself and the furniture. He gets a little more frantic in his callings out, but when five minutes pass with no response, he knows he’s alone.

He stares at the jacket, now lying dismally on the floor.

His little conversation with Keith was so short, it would be so incredibly easy to chalk it up as a symptom of lack of sleep, but the scarlet red watches him.

His evidence.

He picks it up once more, half expecting Keith to materialise in front of him, but Lance remains alone. He hears the whistle of the wind against the windows, like a willowing ghost blatant in its mourning.

When he eventually leaves the shack and drives away on the hoverbike, Keith’s jacket firmly knotted around his waist, he thinks about his twenty minutes in the shack on a loop.

So many puzzles, indeed.

***

He arrives in Sandino three days later.

He was greeted in the airport by his older brother, Marco. They drive his car, Lance’s light blue 67 Shelby, and Lance has missed it. It’s a car that’s been passed down from his grandfather, to his father, to his brother and now to him.

The leather that greets him is worn in and soft, and he finds it the easiest thing in the world to lean back and listen to his brother. Marco must think he’s too tired to talk, because he doesn’t ask him too many questions; just speaks into the stuffy air of the car, and it makes Lance smile.

They get to their house, eventually.

Their home.

Marco parks the car and Lance bursts out, knocks on the door until the exasperated face of his mother opens it, and Lance melts. She yells at him, tells him that he _knows_ she hates it when he does that to the door and makes such a ruckus, but Lance hears the warmth in her voice, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders.

“I’ve missed you,” he says into her hair, and his mother laughs as she squeezes her son just as tightly. She smells like safety, and her arms feel just as much so. They stay standing there in each other’s arms until Marco huffs a loud “I haven’t got all day, you know.”

“Shut up, Marco,” Lance says over his shoulder, hugs his mother just a little longer to spite him, before his mom playfully slaps him away, and they all make their way into the house.

It’s a flurry of movement and noise. His siblings and his cousins. His aunts and his uncles. His grandmother and grandfather. He hears the cries of his niece, barely a year old, lying in the arms of Marco’s wife. She gently shushes her, but his youngest cousins are shouting as they run around the kitchen, which is making little Leya cry harder.

When he greets them, everyone rushes to him. He has two cousins clinging at his legs, with grins so big and giggles even bigger, and his aunts and uncles and grandparents all turn and smile at him from where they’re seated around the table in the middle of the room. It’s such a stark contrast to how people act in the Garrison, usually low energy and reserved, and Lance’s heart begins to fill.

He’s really missed this.

He excuses himself after an hour of conversation and laughter, and sets to unpack. Every time he comes back he thinks his room must be getting bigger. Like there’s one too few posters, or one too few framed photos sitting on his desk. He quickly amends that.

As he goes through his suitcase, red glares him down. It feels wrong to have packed it in with the rest of his belongings, as if it now belongs to him. It makes his throat burn, and as the feeling prolongs, he quickly yanks the jacket out and throws it on the floor.

He knows it’s weird for him to have basically stolen it, but leaving it in the shack to remain forgotten seemed wrong, and the institute didn’t seem like a viable option, for it just to circulate in the labyrinth that is the lost in found. He refuses to let another part of Keith get lost.

But he doesn’t know what to do with it; he doesn’t think it right if he hung it up in his wardrobe. It seems too intimate, in a way.

After a moment of contemplation, he decides that the best place for it is his car. No one ever really goes in his car apart from himself, and Marco on the special occasion. No risk of getting lost, no risk of one of his younger cousins coming across it and accidentally spilling something on it.

He places it in the back of the car. Locks the doors. Makes his way back to the house. When he enters, it’s to the smell of his mother’s homemade Ropa Vieja. His favourite dish.

It’s a good evening.

***

When he dreams that night, it’s of indigo and fire and the stars.

When he wakes up, it’s the middle of the night. He walks to his window and looks up at the clear sky. He watches the Aquila constellation, traces it with his index finger on the window. It’s surface is cool to the touch.

It’s a seasonal constellation. Gone when the summer season dwindles away. He thinks he has more in common with the stars than most people think.

***

_Lance_.

***

His cousin Leo comes to visit the next day. They’re similar in age, with Leo just a year younger, and he’s like the younger brother Lance never had. They go to the beach, along with Rachel and Veronica, and spend the day in the sun.

When Lance enters the sea, the water ripples around him and he dives underwater. He swims until his arms and legs ache, until the sound of water in his ear is merely white noise.

It’s been so long since he last swam – the Garrison doesn’t have any swimming pools, and the closest pool is just too far away, especially without a car. Here, swimming in the clear blue water, it feels like Lance has found a part of himself he didn’t realise was missing.

His siblings and Leo laugh at him when he comes out and his fingers have wrinkled like a prune. He goes on to try and rub said pruney fingers on Veronica’s face, and she screams in her attempt to run away. They all laugh, and then Leo decides to save his cousin by pushing Lance into the water.

A lot of things have changed in his life, but he’s glad that this isn’t one of them.

***

A week after he returns home, he sees Keith again.

It’s been a restless night. He lies on his left, on his right, on his front, but it does nothing for the unsated energy that’s built up within him.

He gets out of his bed, runs his hands through his tangled hair, causing it to stick out in all directions. Goes into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. Stares at himself in the mirror.

The bags under his eyes have gotten better since he came back, he notices.

He keeps his gaze on the mirror until his eyes become unfocused and he’s lost in his head whilst simultaneously not thinking a single thought at all. He shakes himself out of it.

A drive, he thinks. Maybe that’ll let off some steam.

The whole house is sleeping, so Lance has to walk on the balls of his feet. The floor creeks, but other than that, he successfully swipes the key-ring that has the keys to his car, as well as to the house, from the rack in the kitchen. He leaves, locks the door and makes his way to his car.

Sits in front of the wheel. He lightly strokes the wooden structure, missing the feel of it under his hands. It’s been a very long year.

“Nice car.”

He feels air catch in his throat, and he yelps so loud he thinks his family could probably hear it.

He turns to the side of him, only to be faced with a smirk. Lance gapes.

“You make a habit of doing that?” Keith asks.

“What are you doing in my car?” Lance demands, flustered and a little annoyed.

Keith shrugs, then looks out of the window. Acts as if this was in any way normal.

Lance is staring so hard for so long that he thinks, if he were to close his eyes, a faint green outline of the other boy would be imprinted in the darkness behind his eyelids.

“Where are we?” Keith’s still looking out the window, so his voice seems quiet. It takes Lance a few moments to recollect himself before he replies.

“Cuba.”

Keith hums. Lance can very slightly see Keith’s reflection in the passenger’s window. He’s not exactly wearing a look of awe, but he does straighten up in his seat to try and get a better view out of the window.

Lance doesn’t really know what else to do, so he stiffly starts up the car, checks his mirrors, puts on his seat-belt and begins to drive.

The silence in the car is tense. Well, it’s tense on Lance’s part; he’s a swirl of emotion, of confusion and weariness but also happiness. Because yeah, he’s happy Keith is here and not sucked into some weird nowhere place. The confusion probably outweighs everything else he’s feeling, though.

Keith, on the other hand – he’s sitting with his chin on his palm, watching the world outside of the window. His head follows the direction of each street they fly past.

Keith breaks the silence after a while. “I’ve never been outside of Arizona before.”

Lance thinks that that’s pretty obvious with the way he’s been inspecting the streets, but he doesn’t say it. Though he can count the number of times he’s had a conversation with the other boy on barely two hands, he’s never sat with him before without it somehow ending in a shouting match, and he doesn’t want to give a chance to start one.

“Really? Never even been to another State?”

He clumsily shakes his head that’s still rested on his hand. “No.”

Lance keeps driving.

The car is old, so it doesn’t drive very smoothly. They can feel each bump in the road and it’d be uncomfortable if Lance hadn’t had years to get used to it. He chances a glance to the side of him, but Keith doesn’t seem perturbed. He’s opted to shift the weight of his head from the palm of his hand to the head rest, Lance notices.

He parks the car after twenty minutes of driving. Turns the ignition off and sits rod still, still looking ahead. Keith shifts when he notices that they’ve stopped moving.

“The beach?”

“Almost,” Lance says, “more of a rocky coastline.”

They can see gentle waves crash into the rocks from a distance, and they can hear it through their open windows. It’s almost mesmerising.

“You don’t seem very shocked to be in a completely different country.” He says slowly, hoping that Keith recognises the question in his words.

Keith hums. “It’s been a very shocking year. I think I’m out of shock.”

That’s a fair point.

“Last time I saw you,” Lance is fiddling with his fingers as he forces the words out, “when our hands touched…where did you- “

“The stars are out,” Keith hastily interrupts, “I think I can see Aquila.”

Lance silently huffs, but makes no move to resume his original line of questioning. He knows when to leave something well alone. “We can go out there and get a better look?”

Keith bites the side of his cheek before saying, “I don’t think I can leave the car.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t leave. Call it a feeling.”

“A feeling?” Lance repeats.

Keith rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Yeah, a feeling. Is that a problem?”

Lance puts his hands up in surrender. “I’m not trying to start a fight.”

“Oh, _that’s_ new.”

Lance has to bite his tongue. In all honestly, he can understand where the other boy is coming from; Lance hadn’t exactly been the most welcoming person in their earlier years at the Garrison, always challenging him only to sulk and glare at him whenever he lost. But, damn it, it’s not like Keith wasn’t also an active participant in this makeshift rivalry between them.

The tenseness has returned, but now it’s definitely felt by both parties. Lance has to actively stop his leg from shaking, and Keith has returned to staring outside the window, but he’s wearing a scowl now.

They spend five minutes like this.

Lance sighs. His mouth feels dry, but he tries to speak through it anyway. “My mom…she’d always tell me, ‘ _Lance, every head is a world’_. And I didn’t understand what she meant; my head is my head, and the world is the world. I took everything so literal as a kid.”

As he speaks, Keith seems to still be on edge. It’s difficult to continue, but he tries anyway. “One day, I said something to my cousin Leo. I don’t even remember what it was, but it made him cry so hard and I felt so bad – I didn’t realise what I had said was _mean_. But my mom repeated what she always said, and then I understood what she meant.”

Lance takes a breath, then turns to lean on his right shoulder and stares at Keith. “Sometimes, I get so stuck in my world I forget there are billions of others that are different to mine.”

There's a moment of silence that has settled in the car. When it passes, the stiffness in Keith's shoulders leaves him.

The other boy then sighs as he fully leans back into his seat and lets his head fall back on the headrest, and gently closes his eyes. “Your mom’s wise.”

Lance feels the beginnings of a smile start to emerge. “She has her moments.”

They continue to sit there without speaking a word, but now it’s a little more relaxed. Like they’re content to let the noises of the sea fill the air between them and bask in the moonlight that filters into the car. Not exactly the way Lance thought he’d be spending the night, but it could certainly be worse.

After a while, he decides to start the car and begin his drive back. The touches of sleep are beginning to welcome him back, and he thinks rest will come easier to him now. So he drives through the bare roads and occasionally looks to the side of him, where orange streetlights pass by Keith’s face in flashes of seconds.

They make it back. He parks. It feels weird to leave Keith in his car for the rest of the night, and he silently wonders if Keith is just going to haunt his car for the rest of time, but there isn’t much else he can do. With an apology, Lance tells him that he needs to go inside, that he’ll probably come check on him tomorrow. Keith nods.

His hand is on the car handle. Before he pulls it, Keith calls his name, but it’s gentle and earnest. Lance turns to him.

“I think I do too.”

“…What?”

“Get stuck in my world,” he says.

When Lance realises that he’s finished talking, he feels his own eyes begin to soften. “Guess we’ll both have to explore some other worlds then, huh?”

Keith does something so completely unexpected – the corner of his mouth tilts up in what is possibly a genuine smile. “It’s a good thing we went to the Garrison.”

Lance doesn’t stop himself, just lets himself smile, possibly for the first time ever, at the boy opposite him. “I suppose so, yeah.”

When he sleeps, it’s one of the best nights he’s had in weeks.

***

He rushes back to the Shelby the next morning, a slight jump in his step, and he opens the door and leans in.

Keith isn’t there.

***

The rest of the day goes by in a haze. Lance has to entertain his younger cousins as his mom and his aunt decide to spend their own day at the beach. His siblings are out with their friends, so it’s just him in the house.

“Where were you, Lance?” Little Luis asks. Lance is trying to view this year’s test results, but his laptop is having a hard time connecting to the Wi-Fi.

“What do you mean?” he asks lightly, if slightly distracted.

“We didn’t get to see you at Easter!”

Lance chuckles, turns to his younger cousin and ruffles his hair. Luis whines in protest. “I had school, so I couldn’t come back home.”

“That’s weird.”

“Many things are weird.”

“You’re weird.”

“Thank you.”

Luis grins. “I missed you.”

Lance wraps his arms around him. “Missed you too, squirt.”

His laptop finally loads.

He’s passed his fourth year.

***

Another week passes. In this time, his family throw a small party in celebration of his results. It’s a flimsy excuse to have the whole family round again, but Lance enjoys it. He does love being the centre of attention, basks in the noise and the cheers and the light.

Lance has taken his car out for a drive every night.

Still no sign of Keith.

***

He speaks to some friends from the Garrison here and there, Allura more often, but he speaks to Hunk at least once a day. He’s taken Shay to meet his parents, and had started off the holidays rapidly texting Lance chains of sentences expressing his nerves.

As the days began to pass, so did Hunk’s mass-text hysteria, and it seems everything has settled down well enough. Which should have been obvious; those two are like magnets, always finding their way to each other.

“You ever worry about next year?” Hunk says through the phone one morning. Well, morning for Lance. It’s late at night for Hunk.

“How d’you mean?”

“Just, you know. It’s our final year. Isn’t that kind of scary?”

Lance hums. “I guess. Haven’t really thought about it.”

There’s a contemplative silence over the line. “I think I’m gonna apply for that mechanics spot I told you about.”

“The one in Australia?”

“Yeah,” Hunk says, “It’ll only be a year, and my mom knows someone, apparently.”

A lot of change. “That sounds amazing, man.”

“You have any places you got in mind?”

He doesn’t. But he doesn’t want Hunk to worry, so he says, “So many to choose from and so little time. So how’s Shay handling the fam?”

And with those few words, all talk about the future and jobs and feelings of uncertainty vanish, and Lance smiles and hums as he listens to his best friend talk like the stars.

***

When he hangs up with Hunk, he has to take Rachel to her friend’s house since Veronica had taken the family car. He can’t help the breath he holds when he opens up the car, nor the tired exhale when he inevitably finds it empty.

It must have been audible, because Rachel laughs. “Expecting a mysterious lover?”

Lance gives her a look. “I don’t have to drive you, you know.”

“Okay. Then give me the keys.”

Lance feigns horror, laying his hand over his chest. “And let you wreck my beautiful car?”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

“Learnt it from my elders.”

“I’m, like, two minutes older.”

“Yeah, it shows.”

Rachel shoves him, and he laughs, and all thoughts of Keith almost leave his mind. The red in the back stops any feeble attempt at doing so. He starts the car and drives.

He opens the window and plays some obnoxious music, mainly to embarrass his sister, but he also likes the feeling of wind ruffling his hair in tune with some upbeat music. Makes it feel like summer.

Ten minutes later, she gets out the car and Lance is alone.

Or so he thinks.

“You have a terrible taste in music.”

Lance doesn’t yelp. When he’ll look back at this moment at some point in the future, he’ll be very proud of this. He does smile, though, a small and excited one.

“And yours is any better?”

“Can’t be much worse than this.” Keith says, gesturing to the current song playing.

Lance chuckles and quietens down the stereo, then turns to look at Keith. He seems a little paler than before. “You look tired.”

Keith shrugs. “Feel tired.”

“You good for a drive?”

“Don’t have much of a choice,” he says, but it’s in the same way Lance himself huffs out an ‘ _okay’_ as he relents in letting his little cousin Mora paint his nails a florescent pink.

After he’s been driving a while, Keith decides to speak up. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

“So you heard me and Rach, huh?”

Keith hums.

“Well, yeah, I’m from Cuba. Of course I speak Spanish; didn’t you know that?”

“There’s a lot of things I don’t know about you.”

Lance feels his cheeks prickle, but he doesn’t know why. “Almost sounds like you want to change that.”

Keith lets out a small huff through his nose. “Almost.”

His palms begin to sweat where they’re holding the wooden steering wheel. “So were you there the whole car ride?”

Keith fidgets. “Sort of.”

“Have you been in this car this _whole time_?”

“I don’t _know_.” Keith says, sounding a little angry, but he seems to calm himself down a second later. Lance doesn’t take it personally. “It’s all hazy,” he continues a little gentler now, “I don’t know if what I remember is real or not.”

Lance lets the sounds of the car driving play out before them. “I’m sorry.”

Keith hums again.

“You can ask, you know.”

“Ask what?”

“What’s real and what isn’t. I’ll tell you.”

Keith looks at him, and it’s like he looks right into his eyes, and he feels incredibly bare under the gaze. He keeps his own eyes fixed on the road ahead.

He stops at an abandoned railroad.

He remembers spending all his summers here with his friends from school, living out fantastical adventures and ridiculous tales. Though it has been a while since he last came here, the childish wonder still hits him with the same force it did when he was a kid. He feels bittersweet at that moment, wishing he could go back to those simpler times.

“I have a theory,” Keith says, breaking him out of his reverie.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, “when I first…saw you, it was back at the shack. Now I’m in Cuba. Nothing I can think of links to two places together. Well, except…” his words linger, but his eyes dart to the front mirror, where it’s reflecting the back of the car.

“Your jacket?”

Keith nods.

Lance himself looks back at the piece of clothing. He’s surprised he hadn’t realised sooner, but he didn’t really think about it all too much. Was scared if he thought too deeply about the predicament he has found himself in, he’d convince himself that he was going crazy.

He leans over his seat to grab at the jacket, then looks at Keith. The other boy focuses on it before looking up at Lance and gives a small nod. Lance himself nods, then lets himself out of the car.

As soon as he closes it, he sees that Keith is already sitting on the bonnet, as if he had materialised there. Lance’s eyes brighten. “You’re smarter than you look.”

Keith smirks. “Only just.”

He joins him on the bonnet, and they both watch the track that’ll never see a train again. The birds are singing the tunes of summer, and Lance has to swat some flies away from his face.

“So you’re connected to your jacket.”

“I guess so.”

Huh.

“It’s nice to finally be outside,” Keith says.

“Couldn’t you leave the shack?”

Keith bites his lip and shakes his head. A wave of sorrow washes over Lance.

“Keith,” he says, “how long have you been like this?”

Keith scratches the side of his bare arm, just below where the black shirt sleeve ends. “A few months.”

Months?

“How did this even happen?”

Keith slouches where he’s sitting and begins to play with the tips of his fingers. It takes him a while before he starts to speak. “It said it would send me home.”

Lance feels the world stop. “What do you mean, ‘it’?”

The longer he looks at the other boy, the more he realises that he is fading. Lance’s eyes widen in shock and fear, and he shoots up on his feet.

“Keith?” he asks desperately, but it’s no use.

He’s gone.

Lance slowly slumps back on the bonnet, not really able to focus on anything but the final look of fear in Keith’s eyes.

***

He drives home, in the end. Keith’s jacket sits on the passenger seat, and Lance had made sure to fold it with all the delicacy and care he could muster, scared to shatter the connection it has with Keith. He wants to speak up, in case Keith is there and can hear him, but he’s worried that any words that come out will sound weak.

So he drives.

He plays the song from before, the song from the stereo. Though he smiles, his gut feels like it’s falling.

***

He takes the jacket everywhere. Veronica questions him about it in jest, but he playfully ignores her. Lets them all think he bought the jacket for way too high a price to just leave in a wardrobe to collect dust. Rachel jokes that it belongs to his mysterious lover from the other day, and Lance just shoves her.

Hopes to god that Keith isn’t here to listen to this.

***

Lance lies in his bed.

_It said it would send me home._

He doesn’t know what the words mean. The last thing Keith had said to him. They’re words in a sentence that make Lance’s head hurt.

 _Home_. Keith had been stuck in that shack for months. Never able to leave, cursed to watch the outside world from behind a dirty window. And now he’s in Cuba.

So home isn’t a shack, it’s a jacket.

He wants to thrash in his bed, complain that it doesn’t make _sense_ , but then he realises it does. It’s why the rooftop is more of a home than his actual Garrison room was.

Home doesn’t have to be a physical place you can sit, lie down and live. Maybe home is the feeling of comfort, of safety and warmth. Maybe home is a jacket.

When he dreams, he’s a bird singing on the rooftop at the Garrison, and Keith is there, drawing in his sketchbook. He smiles, small and genuine, and it illuminates his world.

***

_Lance_.


	3. Chapter 3

He only has a few days left in Sandino. Soon, he’ll have to fly back to Arizona and move into the new flat he and Allura are renting out for the year. He doesn’t know how to feel.

He’s sitting at his kitchen table. His mom is somewhere in the backyard – she’d spent the year building her own little greenhouse, tending to each of the plants as if they were her children. Lance would get random pictures sent to him of ripened strawberries and growing lettuce and other things she decided to grow throughout the school year.

Seeing it in person, both the greenhouse and the pure joy in his mother’s eyes, is an experience in and of itself.

“I just don’t know if I’m ready for final year,” Lance says.

He’s been doing that a lot, this past week. Trying to speak out loud in case Keith is listening. He tried to imagine being in his place, his world, only to watch everything pass by as you’re forced to stand to the side. It’s still a little weird for him, speaking into the empty air, but it’s gotten easier with time.

“You’re probably laughing at me for saying that, which, you know, screw you. But it’s true. I’ve spent four years in that place, and now suddenly everything’s changing.”

He sighs.

“I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

He takes his leave, gets up from his chair and walks to the living room to annoy Marco, who’s laying on the couch and lazily watching television as a break from the tiring work of being a father.

It’s a nice distraction.

***

He returns to the rocky coastline.

He can hear seagulls in the distance, the waves, the sky, the sun, the heat; he hears it all.

“I don’t want to go.”

The words get lost in the wind.

***

He hugs his mom for so long he thinks his arms are never going to let go. He hides the moisture in his eyes behind teasing laughs and charming smiles, behind promises of weekly calls and promises of returning home as soon as he can.

His younger cousins take it the worst, are quiet and reserved as they watch their favourite cousin, basically a brother to them, having to go away _again_. It breaks his heart.

He crouches down to the level of Luis and Mora. Gives them a grin. “Come on,” he says, and they look up, “you know what they say.”

They look at him and frown. “What do they say?” Mora asks.

“Life is short,” Lance pauses, meets their gazes, then continues, “but it barely takes a second to smile.”

And it works. The smiles they sport are sudden and big, and they turn to give him an large embrace. They talk into his shoulder, say that they’ll miss him so, so, so much, and Lance almost drops everything to spend an extra day here.

But he knows that an extra day wouldn’t be enough. He lets go, ruffles their hair, and their giggles give him the strength to stand up and grab hold of his suitcases. “I’ll be back for Christmas, okay? And I expect only the best presents from my favourite cousins.”

They absolutely beam at him. “We’ll beat you this year, Lance!”

They beat him every year, he thinks, with the small and creative gems they make him every Christmas, but he doesn’t tell them this. Just gives them a mock salute before turning away to his car.

He places his suitcases in the trunk. Walks around to sit in the passenger seat; Marco is driving him to the airport. He’s folded Keith’s jacket over his arm, and keeps it in the centre of his lap as he sits in the car.

“Ready?” Marco asks.

Lance looks out of the window. Most of his family members have gone back inside, but his mom and sisters are still out there, waving in their place at the front door.

He’ll see them at Christmas.

“Yeah. Drive.”

And Marco does. He drives and he drives, plays the stereo and talks about his wife and his job and his Leya, and Lance realises he’s going to miss his brother. He’s probably the only one who could compete with how much Lance could fill a silence, and it’s nice to be able to sit back and listen to idle chatter. Marco’s always been like that; comforting.

They make it to the airport. Marco enters with him to check in, but eventually has to leave his little brother with a hug.

“Don’t get into too much trouble out there, alright?”

“Can’t make any promises.”

“You will if you don’t want me to kick your ass.”

“I _dare_ you to. I’ll tell mom.”

“I’m a thirty year old man. I’m not scared of mom anymore.”

Lance looks at him. “Yeah, you are.”

Marco pauses, but then hangs his head. “Yeah, I am.”

They hug one final time before Marco leaves.

And just like that, Lance is alone.

He grabs a hold of his suitcases and begins walking.

***

“You look sad.”

Lance looks to the side of him, and indigo eyes meet his. He huffs a quiet laugh and looks back out of the window. He’s currently waiting to board his plane. It’s been a long forty minutes.

“Feel sad.”

Keith looks out the window as well. Their gazes meet in the faint reflections of one another. “You hide it well.”

Lance doesn’t say anything.

“You were right before, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, “Life is short. But smiling takes no time at all.”

Lance smiles. “No time at all.”

Keith returns his smile, small and genuine and beautiful. It illuminates the world.

***

He lands in Phoenix five hours later.

He leaves the airport and calls for a cab for the two hour drive to the Garrison, to his new flat. He’s not alone for a second during the whole journey, which he is grateful for.

***

“You’re living with Allura?”

Lance kind of resents the tone of utter shock in Keith’s voice. But he can’t say anything, not with Allura standing right there. So he pointedly yawns a loud, “Man, am I glad we’re living together, Allura.”

Allura stops whatever she’s doing on the kitchen counter and looks at him. Her brows pinch together. “Stop trying to get out of sorting out the flat.”

Lance straightens, and he hears Keith snicker. “Wha- that’s not-!”

She throws a towel at his face. “Go clean the bathroom.”

Lance sighs in defeat. “Fine.”

Keith snickers louder.

When he’s safe behind the confines of the bathroom door, he holds the towel up in warning. “If there wasn’t immediate danger of you disappearing into nowhere land, I’d slap the shit out of you with this towel.”

“Sucks to be you, then.” Keith crosses his arms with a smirk.

Lance groans, but goes to get some bleach from under the sink because if he puts off cleaning and Allura notices, she’ll probably file for a new flatmate.

Keith migrates to sitting on the side of the bathtub, hugs one of his knees to his chest.

“I didn’t realise you and Allura had gotten so close.” Keith’s voice is light and casual. Keith is barely ever light and casual. Lance lifts his brow.

“Yeah, well. We are.” Lance waves his hands in the air, a weak version of jazz hands, then winces at himself. Maybe not the coolest thing he’s ever done.

Keith hums but doesn’t meet his eye. Lance continues to scrub at the toilet.

“A lot’s changed since I was in the Garrison.” Keith notes.

Lance freezes, but then hastily continues in his scrubbing. “Yeah.”

Keith starts to lightly kick the side of the bathtub, more of a gentle tap than anything. “Is Shiro still teaching there?”

“Yep.” Lance’s tone is clipped. He thinks the smell of the bleach is starting to get to him.

“…Oh.”

A few moments pass before Lance looks up. Keith’s looking down, his body sitting still, and he’s staring at a random part of the floor. He doesn’t say anything else.

Scrub, scrub, scrub.

When he turns to go clean the tub, Keith is no longer there.

***

“Lancey-Lance!” Hunk shouts, arms extended. Lance grins and runs to him.

“Hunky man!”

They hug, Hunk twirling his friend around, and everyone around them chuckles. He thinks he spots the professor in the classroom they’re standing outside of sport a small smile of her own, and it’s as if this isn’t their final year. This is just another day, another day where Lance can muck about and everyone laughs and everything’s okay.

“How’s your mom?” Hunk asks after he puts him down. He can’t stay long, has his own class to be getting to.

“She’s good,” he replies, “sends her love.”

“I send my love to her very much, also.”

They both laugh at his clunky choice of words, and the professor shushes them, and they glance at each other as they try to keep in their giggling. Just another day.

***

Unsurprisingly, it’s hoverbike day. Happens every year; it’s done this way to hype the students up so that they maintain that energy for the rest of the year. Lance thinks this logic is very flawed, but isn’t going to pass up a ride on a hoverbike.

They’re sitting outside, like a group of elementary school children, sitting in a semi-circle curving around Shirogane. He’s giving them a talk, says that, what with them being final years, they’re going to be expected to handle a hoverbike like ‘ _it’s an extension of yourself’_. He then grimaces, as if realising how ridiculous he sounds.

Though there are ample bikes for them all, only six can go at a time. Order is alphabetical, so Lance has some time before his turn. He looks at Shiro. He looks tired.

He didn’t bring the jacket with him.

He feels bad about it, but he’s a coward. It’s been a week since he last saw Keith, but on the off chance that he was floating around somewhere, he didn’t want to upset the other boy. From what he’d learnt during the taxi to his flat, Shiro was Keith’s adoptive brother, and that’s how he effectively got taken under Shiro’s wing.

When Keith had nothing, he had his brother. Lance doesn’t think he’d be able to watch the heartbreak Keith would probably have to endure, having to watch him and not talk to him, of learning that his own brother doesn’t even remember who he is.

He quickly shakes the thought away.

When Shiro calls his name, he jumps at his chance on a bike. Puts on his helmet and shoots off, leaving dust in his path. Suddenly, he really wants Keith there, someone to race with, someone to watch him. The thought of Keith watching him ride sparks a small flame in the centre of his chest.

***

Lunch comes sooner than most people expected or wanted, but it’s a small price to pay.

Lance leans against a tree with his shoeless feet lying atop Hunk’s lap, and he’s surrounded by all of his friends. Pidge is throwing grapes at him, with Allura catching one every so often to pop into her mouth, and Hunk is recounting a story of his holiday adventure with Shay.

Just another day.

***

“I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Keith’s sitting on his bed, arms and legs crossed. Lance almost smiles, excited to see the other boy again, but then he regards him with an observant eye. He seems angry. Lance slowly slings his bag on the ground.

“I never said you were.”

Keith huffs out a laugh, but it’s bitter and cold. “First day of the year. First day of every stupid year – hoverbike day.”

“Yeah, and?”

He sees Keith curl his hand into a fist, until his knuckles turn yellow. “You left the jacket here.”

Lance feels his back begin to sweat. “I couldn’t log it around with me everywhere. It’s hot out. People would talk.”

“Didn’t have a problem with that back in Cuba,” Keith counters, and it hits him stone cold in the chest. “You knew I wanted to see my brother and you stopped me.”

“I mean, -“

“ _Lance_.”

He’s starting to raise his voice, so Lance concedes. Takes a step forwards. “Okay, you got me, yeah. But Keith, I just- I didn’t want you to get upset, I didn’t-“

Keith hits his hand against the duvet of his bed and stands up, “That wasn’t your call to make!”

Lance’s blood runs cold.

“I just thought…I didn’t want-“

“Lance,” he says darkly, and he notices a tear run down Keith’s face, “It doesn’t matter what you wanted, not for this.”

Lance stays silent.

_That wasn’t your call to make._

He’s right.

Keith groans, both hands now at his hair as if he’s about to pull at the strands. He groans and he cries out, “I’m tired of this, I’m _tired_.” He’s blinking in and out of physicality, and Lance feels his heart beat so hard it hurts. He wants to go to him, to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, apologise for hours on end, but he’s stuck still.

Keith suddenly turns to face him, eyes empty of any emotion. When he talks, it’s calm and quiet, but Lance can hear the fury in his voice.

“Get out.”

He nods, turns to open the handle of the door, but before he leaves, he says, “I’m sorry.”

It hangs in the air until he finally closes the door.

***

He walks to campus, only a ten minute walk, and calls his mom. Needs the reassurance of his mother’s voice that the world will still turn and everything will be okay.

She picks up on the second ring, her voice loud through the speaker, and Lance feels his heartbeat start to calm a little. Lets her talk about her greenhouse and how the spring onions are starting to sprout out, about how she’s going to try for potatoes next.

The sky is dark now. It’s only a matter of days before the sun will begin to shy away, until Aquila will leave until the next year, the next summer. Only a matter of weeks before the days become shorter, and all they’ll see is darkness and gloom.

He walks back to his flat.

***

Keith is nowhere to be seen when he returns. He can feel the silence, and it leaves a horrible aftertaste.

He goes to stay with Allura in her room until his eyes sting and his lids can no longer hold themselves up. He returns to his room and sleeps. He doesn’t dream.

***

“You alright, dude?” Pidge asks.

“Yeah,” Lance smiles, “just a little tired.”

Pidge looks at him, intense and proper. Lance looks away.

She goes to grab something in her bag and takes out something that’s brown and caramel and white. She places it on the table and slides it over to him.

“Looks like you need it more than me.”

He blinks at the chocolate bar. “You sure?”

Pidge nods in affirmation then turns back to her own desk, ready to start the lesson. Lance looks down at it for a moment more before he relents and opens the paper packaging.

He nibbles on the chocolate throughout the lesson, and Pidge was right. He did need this.

***

He decides to eat his lunch alone, go back to his throne atop the concrete box. He sees the coordinates to the side and traces it with his finger like he did on those fateful summer days. Almost feels like a lifetime ago.

The clouds are starting to coat their arms around the sun, and everything seems a little more grey now.

***

His first lesson with Iverson of the academic year.

The professor completely ignores him, save for the couple times he sends him a truly terrifying glare, and Lance counts it as more of an achievement than anything else. Thinks Keith would look at him with jealousy, wishing he’d be able to see how Lance has annoyed Iverson to the point of disregard.

Tries to think of something else when sadness settles in his stomach.

It works well enough; Hunk keeps sending him notes like they’re not at the ripe age of twenty-three, and Lance returns them by scrunching the paper and throwing it at his friends head.

The class eventually ends, and he starts to think up a battle plan. Or, well, battle outline.

Only one idea comes to mind.

***

He’s at the rooftop again, but this time he has Keith’s jacket in his arms. He fiddles with it in his lap as he tries to speak, but he keeps losing confidence before he can utter a single word. Has had about three of these false starts. Soon, he gets annoyed with himself and decides to just let the words rush out of him like a broken dam.

“Alright, Mullet-head. I don’t even know if you’re here, but if you are, I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry.”

The words feel wrong in his mouth – it’s an apology, but it says nothing of what is racing through Lance’s mind at all. It’s not deep enough in its sentiment, not strong enough in its conviction.

He tries to stop thinking a mile a minute. Takes a deep breath. “I took a decision that was yours to make without asking. I took your opportunity to see your brother again for the first time in months, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Silence.

He fiddles with the jacket some more.

“Can’t believe you called me _Mullet-head_.”

Lance turns to him. “Keith?”

Keith’s sitting beside him, arms resting around his raised knees. “Hi.”

Lance gawks, but only a little.

Keith looks away, looks at the colours that are slowly fading in the sky. Swirls of orange and pink and yellow have merged and exploded together to make a beautiful painting in the sky. “I should be the one to apologise, Lance. I got angry at you when you were just trying to look out for me. That wasn’t fair on you.”

Lance lifts his hand to touch Keith’s shoulder, but curls it into a loose fist to stop himself in the last second. “No, you were right. It wasn’t my call to make.”

Keith is quiet for a while. Contemplative. “I think we both got stuck in our own worlds again.”

Lance bites his lip. “Maybe.”

Keith turns to him, and doesn’t say anything until he catches Lance gaze. It’s like everything around them stops; a bubble in time. “I am sorry, Lance. I just felt like I had no control over anything, and lashed out, but I shouldn’t have lashed out on you.”

Lance doesn’t say anything, but he nods.

When a silence stretches out between them, he looks at him. He feels his breath catch in his throat as he sees the orange light of the sky outline the other boy, like he’s lined with gold. “So we’re good?”

Keith’s eyes crinkle a little, just at the sides of his eyes, and Lance feels like he’s staring into the sun. “Yeah, man. We’re good.”

They lean back on their hands and watch the sun set. Lance very pointedly doesn’t notice how close their hands are, how it’d be the easiest thing in the world to cover Keith’s hand with his own. Doesn’t notice it at all.

***

“Why are we here?” Keith asks some twenty minutes later. The sun has now set, and the blue of the sky is beginning to darken. It makes everything around them a dark blue too.

“What d’you mean?”

“Just. I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place.”

Lance laughs. “How do you think I found the shack?”

Keith looks a little confused at the question, before his eyes land on what Lance is pointing to. His brow raises. “I…actually forgot about that.”

“I can’t believe you _carved_ coordinates into gravel. So pirate of you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Lance laughs. Of _course_ he would.

They’re enveloped in the sound of the wind and the odd bird flying out of the branches of a tree before Lance speaks again, gentle and quiet. “Little strange, though. Didn’t peg you as someone who wanted to be found.”

Keith leans his back against a concrete wall. “I _did_ want to be found. The coordinates were for Shiro.”

“Shiro?” Lance asks, sitting up a little straighter. “Didn’t he know where you were?”

The other boy hunches his shoulders a little. “He was on a mission when I got expelled. For three months. I thought – well, he knew I used to spend a lot of time here. Thought he’d check around for a clue. We used to joke around about leaving secret messages here because no one else knew about this place, so I was sure he’d look around for _something_. But he never turned up.”

His eyes are downcast now, and they’re shadowed by his dark hair. “I thought maybe he didn’t find it, maybe I didn’t make it clear enough. But then you showed up, so maybe he just wasn’t looking hard enough.”

Lance’s entire throat is dry, and he feels his heart stop, like it was turning to stone. “I don’t – I don’t think that was it.”

Keith leans his head back and looks at the stars that are starting to show themselves. “It’s alright, Lance. I’ve had months to get over it.”

“No,” Lance says, loud and sudden, and brings all of Keith’s attention onto him.

“What’s up?” Keith asks slowly, as if he were approaching a wild animal and didn’t want to startle it.

Lance takes his time to collect himself, to think of the words that need to be said. Picks at the skin on the sides of his nails. “I’m going to tell you something, and it’s going to sound kind of strange and is probably super upsetting, but,” he sighs, “you need to know.”

The other boy stops leaning on the wall and instead leans over slightly. “What’s going on?”

Lance shifts his eyes, from watching Keith to looking away to looking back at him. His entire body is so incredibly tense. He ends up closing his eyes altogether. “Something happened. A few months ago, I think. Somehow, for some reason, everyone…everyone forgot you, Keith.”

There. The words are out in the open. He’d slump in relief, but absolutely nothing about this situation calls for relief.

Keith himself relaxes slightly. “Well, yeah. I didn’t think people would keep talking about me forever.”

“I mean, people literally don’t remember you.”

When Keith laughs, it’s slow and uncomfortable. “Right.”

“No, dude,” he says, “I’m being serious. No one knows who you are. There are no records of your Garrison admittance, heck, even _Iverson_ doesn’t know who you are.”

He watches how Keith’s face slowly begins to shift, until his shoulders fall, his arms become limp and he parts his lips in…sadness? Shock? Perhaps a mixture of both.

“And Shiro?”

Lance wrings his hands together. “I’m so sorry, Keith.”

The other boy pales, pales more and more so for every minute that passes. Lance doesn’t even dare to blink.

He eventually breaks out of his statue-like state to run his hand through his hair. “I’m guessing this isn’t just some kind of sick joke on your part.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Thought not,” he says, but it’s not any more audible than if he were muttering to himself.

“I’m sorry.”

Keith doesn’t respond. Doesn’t say anything for a very long while. Lance thinks the beating of his heart can be heard by the whole campus below them.

“So no one remembers me?”

Lance nods.

Keith bites his lip. “So why do you?”

Lance lets the question hang in the air.

It’s a question he’s been asking himself since June.

_Why am I the only one that remembers Keith?_

He doesn’t _know_.

Keith quietly requests for him to leave the jacket here over night. Lance clumsily nods, and asks if he can stay out a little longer with him. He doesn’t want to leave Keith alone, wants to hold his hand and pull him into a hug and tell him everything will be okay. When Keith replies with his affirmation, Lance looks up at the sky.

***

_Lance._

_Wake up._

_Lance._

_Dude._

“Wake up.”

He shoots up, groggy and awkwardly, and mumbles something which is very much incomprehensible. He blinks, blinks again, keeps blinking until his vision isn’t blurry. The first clear thing he sees are soft eyes.

“You need to go back home. Get some proper rest.” He hears the smile in Keith’s voice. It makes Lance himself smile lazily.

“I was very comfortable, thank you very much,” he tries to say, but the words trip around each other, what with his tongue refusing to properly wake up.

“Lance. Go. I promise your bed will be much more comfortable.”

“Mmh, don’t wanna.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“’m not a baby.”

“Big baby.”

Lance giggles. “Asshole.”

“It’s a gift.”

Lance checks his phone. It’s two in the morning. He lets out a yawn. “You sure you want to stay out here, man?”

“It’s a nice night out.”

Lance looks up at the stars, at the constellations. Yeah, he supposes it is.

He stretches his arms outwards before standing up. Before he can take his leave, Keith calls his name.

“Just one question,” he says.

“Shoot.”

“You said you’d tell me what was real and what wasn’t. Is this real?”

The words lie heavy between them, and Lance doesn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “It is.”

The corner of Keith’s mouth lifts up, but its short-lived and weak. He turns to look back at the sky. “I see.”

“But we’ll figure this out. You’re not on your own, anymore. That’s real too.”

The other boy doesn’t exactly smile, but is very close to it. “Goodnight, Lance.”

“Goodnight,” he says, “Mullet-head.”

He chuckles with his head tilted back. Lance feels dazed.

***

He returns home, safe and sound. Barely has the energy to take his jeans off and fall face first into bed, but he manages.

He usually contemplates a lot of things before he sleeps; conversations had, work that needs to be done, general unrealistic scenarios. In the deep night silence, his mind explodes with thought.

Tonight, though. Tonight, Lance only has one thought.

He’s going to bring Keith back.

***

_Lance_.

***

He shares breakfast with Allura, makes some eggs and toast, and Allura mentions offhandedly that he seems to be in a good mood.

He thinks of Keith. “Yeah,” he says, “I guess I am.”

He heads to the rooftop before his first lecture, and finds scarlet red standing out against the dreary grey. Keith’s there as well, eyes closed and hands crossed behind his head, and Lance wants to take a second more to watch the other boy in such a state of peace.

He ruins it, of course. “Rise and shine, jackass. It’s school time.”

Keith groans. “I got kicked out. Why do I have to go back?”

Despite his words, he’s still standing up, so Lance isn’t fooled at all. Doesn’t mention it, though, just plays along. “If I have to suffer, then so do you.”

“Terrible reasoning.”

“Perhaps.”

They close the door to the roof behind them. Despite there being grey skies with drizzles of rain, Lance feels beyond the gloom, beyond the drear. Today is a new day.

***

Lance sits at the end of a row of seats in the lecture theatre and Keith seats himself on the edge of the step besides him. Lance is trying really hard to take some notes, he is, but it’s been so long since he’s seen Keith actually _in_ the Garrison. It’s kind of difficult to concentrate.

Keith eventually stands up and peers over Lance’s shoulder to look at his almost blank sheet of paper. Snickers away like the asshole he is.

“You’re a terrible student.”

He subtly flips him off from under his little desk. Keith laughs, big and bright into the lecture theatre, and Lance feels his legs weaken.

***

“Nice jacket,” Allura says as they’re waiting outside a classroom for their next tutorial. It’s quiet in the corridor, just ten or so students, all of whom are on their phones. Allura’s voice is calm, though, so it doesn’t really cause a break in the air.

“Thanks,” Lance responds in a similar tone, “Nice face.”

Allura huffs out a laugh and slaps his shoulder lightly, and Lance theatrically rubs at his attacked arm.

Keith’s arms are crossed as the side of his arm leans on the wall, and he raises his brow. “Very cheesy, McClain.”

He bows in an exaggerated manner, makes it look like he’s bowing to Allura, but when his eyes meet Keith’s and he sees the other boy smirk a little, he knows he’s gotten his message across.

***

Iverson picks on him, because obviously he’d ask such a hard question that even has Pidge scratching his head to him. “ _Answer_ , cadet, come on. We haven’t got all day.”

Lance feels his eyes cross as he frantically reads the question on the board, but then Keith interrupts him. “It’s 84.9.”

Lance looks to the side of him, but Keith’s wearing a bored expression. Is sitting on the windowsill and staring out into the field.

Lance clears his throat. “84.9?”

Iverson looks taken aback for a moment. Regains his composure almost instantly, though. “Correct,” he bites, the turns on to his next victim for the next question.

Lance melts into his seat, then sends a subtle thumbs up to Keith. Keith returns the gesture, then stares out the window some more.

***

“I thought I was a ghost.”

It’s midday now, and they’re sitting on the rooftop as Lance eats his chicken sandwiches. It’s an easy admission, like Keith was commenting on the state of the weather.

“You don’t anymore?”

Keith bites the side of his cheek. “I don’t think part of being a ghost is having your existence wiped.”

“Fair point.”

Lance finishes his first sandwich. Moves onto the second one. Something sparks in his mind at that moment, a forgotten memory.

“Maybe it has something to do with that cave.” Lance says around his mouthful of food.

“Huh?”

“The cave,” Lance prods, “with all those hieroglyphics and stuff. I saw the pictures back at the shack. What were they, anyway?”

“I – I don’t…-“

Lance stills.

That face.

He's seen that face before. Countless times. He’s seen it on Shiro and he’s seen it on Iverson, sees it every time he tried to mention Keith’s name in the past. He gulps down his bite.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

Keith reaches his hand to the side of his head. “No?” Says it with so much uncertainty, like he doesn’t believe it himself. It makes sense; Keith never brought any of it up, and the investigation board was all covered up; it’s not like Keith could have lifted the sheet and question it in all the months he was in the shack.

“So many puzzles,” Lance says.

“You can say that again,” Keith says, almost absently.


	4. Chapter 4

They’re lying against the headboard of Lance’s bed and they’re so close to being shoulder to shoulder. They’ve placed a pillow between them to prevent any accidental touching and Keith’s…departure.

They’ve been at it for an hour now, trying to collect any and all the information they can, but it’s proving to be a difficult feat. This position they’ve found themselves in is the result of tiredly getting nowhere.

“You couldn’t have gotten a better photo?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Oh, now it’s _my_ fault? There was no light in that shack, nothing I could do about it!”

Keith grins, but in a way like he’s trying to hide it. “Could have tried harder.”

“Oh, I am _so_ gonna kick your ass when we get you back.”

“I’d like to see you _try_.”

So would he. Very much so.

He looks away. He feels his ears begin to heat at the very thought of it, and hopes Keith doesn’t notice.

They need to focus.

Keith doesn’t remember anything about the photos he’d taken; doesn’t remember the cave, how he got there in the first place or if there was anything else in there that he didn’t get the chance to document. To Keith, this cave does not exist.

Though he could translate the shorthand on the post-it notes scattered throughout the photos, he couldn’t read much of it – the flash of the camera made it so the pencilled-in letters reflected the light so much that it rendered them unreadable.

“I’m going to have to go back,” Lance declares, “during the day this time. To get a better photo.”

When he turns to him, Keith is looking resolutely at the end of the bed.

He can hear the clicking of his clock’s hand as each second passes _. Tick, tick, tick_. Keith brings one of his outstretched legs in and bends it to his chest, lets his hands rest on his ankle. “My dad built that shack,” he says.

“…Oh?”

Keith is now resting his chin on his knee. “Yeah. Left it for me in his will. That’s how I knew where it was, knew its coordinates. We used to live there when I was really young.”

Lance is wracking his mind with things to say, but Keith continues before he can. “So I know I sound terrible for saying this, but I kind of don’t want to go back there.”

Lance settles his hand on the pillow between them, trying to get as close to the other boy without putting him in danger. “You don’t sound terrible, man. I get it.”

Keith looks up. “You do?”

“Keith, you spent so many months trapped in that place with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Honestly? I wasn’t really expecting you to come with. I sure wouldn’t have if I were in your position.”

Keith stares at him. It’s intense, and strong, but Lance doesn’t look away, not this time. Tries to give Keith a look of reassurance, a look of comfort.

“Lance,” he says finally, scarily calm, “move the pillow.”

That surprises him. “What?”

“Just do it.”

Lance, very confused, does as he’s told. Moves it and throws it to the end of the bed. He shifts so that he’s sitting on his knees. Keith is sitting directly in front of him, and has mirrored his stance. Lance tenses slightly. “What’s going on?”

“I’m going to hug you.”

The words cause a shiver to run through Lance’s entire body, and he feels warmth swirl in his gut. But then reality shakes him out of it. “Keith, don’t. You’ll disappear.”

And yet, he doesn’t back away from him.

“I don’t care,” Keith says, “it’ll be worth it. Even if it’s just for a second, it’ll be worth it.”

“Keith-“

“I’ve been told I’m very stubborn by many people, you included.” He inches closer. And closer. And-

He hugs him. Lance is instantly coated in arms of cold, and it covers his body in goose-bumps, but it’s nothing like the first time they touched, or maybe it is, but now it’s _different_. It’s not the untouchable Keith Kogane, holder of the best piloting record. This is Keith, his friend. When he opens his eyes, the other boy is no longer there, but he feels himself smile nonetheless.

“You idiot.” He shakes his head, and he thinks he hears a distant laugh.

He sits there for a good while, chuckling to himself quietly. That boy.

He eventually gets up from his bed and heads to the kitchen. It’s probably about time he had dinner anyway.

He’s halfway through waiting for his rice to cook as he’s scrolling through his phone when Allura comes in. Her hair is tied back in a high ponytail, and it swishes with every step she takes. “Finally off the phone, then?” she says as she sticks her head into the fridge.

“Yeah,” Lance replies distractedly, “he had to go.”

He smiles at this secret joke of his.

“Hunk?”

“Nah, you don’t know him.”

She makes a ‘ _mm’_ sound in response, then pulls out a tub of Greek yogurt. “Haven’t heard you laugh that loud in a while.”

That pulls Lance out of his mindless social media scroll to look up at her. “What do you mean?”

Allura shrugs. “I could hear you laughing all the way in my room. You’ve seemed kind of down for a while now, so it was nice to hear it.”

…Oh. Lance didn’t think anyone would notice. He doesn’t really know what to say.

Allura must see this. She leans over the counter and smiles. “He must be very special.”

Lance gawks. “What?”

That pulls a laugh from her. “And now your _blushing_.”

“Allura!” he feels it, feels the heat that’s glazing his face, his ears, his entire body. He busies himself by checking on his rice and turns away from her. Steam puffs right onto his face. Fitting.

“So what’s his name?” she goads. In a way, he’s kind of glad Keith isn’t here. He’d never shut up about this.

“Keith,” Lance bites out, and closes the lid. When he turns back around, Allura has her chin resting on the palm of her hand, and she’s wearing the smuggest look known on earth. “What?”

She puts her hands up in surrender. “Nothing at all.”

He continues making his dinner, but the only thing he hears is Allura’s smirk.

***

A couple of weeks pass. Keith has yet to appear.

The chill in the air is starting to pick up, but only about as much as it can in Arizona in early October. The humidity that was present in the summer has all but vanished, so the occasional bout of wind that passes Lance by every so often makes him shudder somewhat.

He’s wearing the red jacket instead of his Garrison uniform, and it adds a slight jump to his step.

As he walks to campus for his first tutorial of the day, he wonders if Shiro will let him steal a hoverbike again, or whether it’d be a safer bet to ask to borrow someone’s car. He thinks he remembers Pidge mentioning a car one time last year.

The thought of owing her another favour makes him reconsider for a moment. She made him fill in her tutorial answers for a week when he asked her to hack the database. He could barely fill out his _own_ answer sheets, dammit.

He doesn't really have any other choice, though.

He enters the room a few minutes late, finds that the tutorial has already begun. He sees a puff of orange hair and walks towards it, until he’s sitting behind Pidge. Once he settles down, he rips out a sheet of paper from his notebook and scribbles a quick, messy note onto it;

_Do you have a car I can borrow?_

He folds it neatly. Taps her on the back of her shoulder. She turns, but only so Lance can see her side-eyeing him. He subtly lifts the folded paper up until her face lights up in recognition, and has her hand reaching behind herself to grab it.

A couple minutes pass before he gets a response.

_When and where?_

Lance grins.

_ASAP. By the hoverbikes._

Another while passes. She places the note on his desk. He opens it.

_Hope you brushed up on your astrophysics knowledge over the summer._

Lance stops himself from smacking his head on the desk. The price to pay, he supposes.

***

He goes back home for a while – there’s a three hour gap he has to fill before his labs practical, and didn’t feel like spending it in the library. Hunk and Allura are in different streams to his, and library sessions just aren't as fun on your own. He needs to return the jacket here anyway, doesn’t want to risk Keith accidentally materialising out there whilst he was taking the photos they needed.

He places the jacket on the foot of his bed and looks at it.

Something has been bothering him for a while now. Something important.

Many weeks ago, back in the warmth of Sandino, Keith had said something.

_It said it would send me home._

He hasn’t forgot about it. It’s always in the back of his mind whenever he sees Keith, but he’s been afraid that the mere mention of those words would send Keith away again. Keith still hasn’t told him where he goes, or what it’s like. He hardly imagines it’s paradise on earth.

But maybe he should mention it. Perhaps not outright ask him to give a detailed description, but attempt to try to get a little more information about what he had meant. Even if he can only get a sentence out of Keith, that’ll be one sentence closer to getting him back.

He contemplates it. Contemplates it throughout his lab work, and contemplates it all the way to the hoverbike garage, where he is met with a beat-up Nissan sunny and big glasses in the passenger seat.

He stands to the driver’s side. Doesn’t enter the car, just looks at Pidge through the window. She reaches across the seat to wind the window down.

“Sup.”

“Pidge, what are you doing?”

She smiles, and it’s goblin like. “Joining you, of course.”

“You don’t even know where I’m going. Could be the grocery store. Could be a _date_.”

She snorts. “You’d never shut up if you had a date.”

“Rude.”

She stretches her feet on the dashboard and leans back. “I’m bored. Need to get out of this place for a while. Thought, might as well.”

Lance groans. “You’re really not going to leave?”

“Nope.” She makes sure to pop the ‘p’. The feeling he feels at that particular instant reminds of his early teen years with Rachel, where she had gotten mom to make him take her everywhere he went; the mall, the pool, to meet up with friends - she was _everywhere_. It raises a forgotten annoyance from the pit of his stomach, but he doesn’t have many other options at hand, so he quickly resigns himself to this unwanted driving buddy.

“You stay in the car the whole time. I’m already doing your damn homework, so this isn’t up for negotiation, alright?”

“Alright,” she says slowly, and Lance doesn’t believe a single syllable of it.

It’s a terrible car. It squeaks at any sudden movement, which is all of them, and it barely drives above the speed limit before it has Lance fearing for his life. Pidge is wearing a look of pure indifference the whole time, only lighting up when she changes the song.

The radio does not work. There is only one single CD that, according to Pidge, she must always play whenever she drives. She has owned this car for well over a year now.

Maybe he should have just taken his chances with Shiro.

They arrive, eventually. The shack stands there, exactly the same as how Lance remembers it; big and old and silent and empty. But now he sees it in the context of Keith, and wonders what whispers the walls must contain, the memories and the dreams and the sorrow that must coat it.

“Is that a Garrison bike?” Pidge asks, pointing straight ahead of her.

“Probably,” Lance replies absently, still looking at the shack.

“What is this place?”

“Belongs to a friend of mine. I just need to do something for them while they’re, uh. Out of town.”

“Like water their plants?”

“Yeah, like water their plants.”

Pidge nods, then slams her feet back on the dashboard. “Okay. Have fun.”

Lance looks at her for a long while, brow lowered, but he doesn’t have time. He’s slowly losing daylight, and he’s not sure he wants to be coming back here any time soon. Needs to get it right this time round.

He slams the car door shut, and the noise echoes throughout the empty desert. Walks to the front door of the shack. When he pushes it open, it squeaks high and old, like it’s trying to scare Lance away. It honestly wouldn’t come as much of a shock to him if that _were_ the case.

He enters. It’s strange, in a way, to see its details in the daylight, to be able to see the patterns of the wooden floorboards and the crinkles of the white sheets. He turns back to look at the paintings on either side of the door, and they’re more beautiful than he remembers.

He hadn’t covered the sheet back onto the board the last time he was here, so the bright red and yellow and green strings stick out against the monochrome pictures and monochrome board. The yellow post-it notes are still there, though a few of them have curled in on themselves and are hanging onto the board by the tips of their corners. Lance makes sure to flatten them out.

He takes his phone out and focuses his camera. He gets a few close ups, making sure each of the photos are legible. It’s much easier now that he knows what he’s doing, what he’s looking for.

“The fuck?” a voice calls out, and Lance rolls his eyes so hard it’s uncomfortable.

“ _Pidge_ , I _told_ you to stay in the car.”

She ignores him, walks right into his shoulder as she goes to look at the board with an analytical eye.

“These sure aren’t plants,” she notes.

Lance groans. “Get out!”

“Don’t think I will,” she says, and leans in to get a better look at the photos. She adjusts her glasses. “What are these?”

Lance answers honestly, but there is obvious annoyance in his voice. “I don’t know.”

“I know this language,” she says, and it completely catches Lance off guard.

“You can read hieroglyphics?”

She scrunches her nose. “Obviously not. I mean I recognise it. They’re not Egyptian, they’re Olmec.”

“They’re what?”

“Olmec. Like, really old Mesoamerican. This is _ancient_.” She lightly strokes the photo on the board.

He silently wonders why Pidge is in pilot school. “Do I want to know why you can distinguish between different types of hieroglyphics?”

She fixes her glasses again and stands a little straighter. “My dad’s an archaeologist.”

Well, yeah. That’ll do it.

“Think you can translate it?”

“Duh,” she snorts, then rushes out. It’s so abrupt that Lance is too surprised to follow her, and just returns to staring at the photos some more. There’s only three, and all of them are showing different angles of the same wall of writing. Besides it is a large, very realistic drawing of a lion.

She comes back in record time, holding what looks to be a laptop, thick and heavy. She sits on the ground, cross-legged, and gets to work. Seems to be typing a mile a minute, before she asks Lance to get her something to write on. He searches around the room until he finds a scrap piece of paper discarded on the table at the centre of the room, and picks up the pen next to it. Gives it over to her.

“Hand me the picture,” she says, and it has Lance taking the photo from the board and placing it into her outstretched hand.

The next hour consist of her frantically looking between her screen and what she’s writing on the paper. It’s dark now, but Lance had taken his flashlight with him, so he positions it to point at wherever Pidge needs it.

It’s a much more boring process than Lance anticipated when she first started her translation, and he doesn’t even have service on his phone to distract him. Nothing more to do than sit and wait, and occasionally throw a line of conversation that Pidge promptly ignores.

She finishes, of course. Hits her lap with the palms of her hands as she loudly declares that she's cracked it. Lance’s eyes glisten as he crouches on the floor next to her and looks at what she’s written.

“I think it’s supposed to be a poem,” Pidge says, “but I can’t be sure.”

He reads what it says;

_Ancient worlds and ancient ruins_

_A cycle’s tale told through destruction and chaos_

_No longer will power be wielded by fools and monsters_

_The power of the Blue Lion will be forgotten by all but one._

He reads it. Reads it again.

“I don’t get it,” he says after a while, loud and blunt.

“Your friend has some weird hobbies.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

Pidge falls onto her back and spreads her arms wide. “That was not good for my posture,” she says.

Lance scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry that took you so long, dude.”

She lets out a loud ‘ _ha!_ ’ in response. “It was fun. _Way_ more fun than lecture prep.”

He swears under his breath. He’d forgotten about lectures.

He checks the time. Just hit seven thirty.

“Want to get dinner?” he asks as he stretches. “We can talk about whatever the hell this is supposed to be over burgers.”

Pidge sits up and makes a few stretches of her own. “Can’t. Promised Hunk I’d go over his portfolio before the end of the day. But tomorrow, definitely.”

They agree to meet up after lectures. When Pidge asks if she should invite Hunk, the deep feeling of discomfort returns, and it has Lance pleading to Pidge to keep this just between the two of them. When she reluctantly agrees, the feeling eases, and it has Lance breathing a little easier.

It makes his skin itch.

***

He returns home. When sleep immerses him, he dreams of a bright white light stalking its way towards him. He doesn’t feel fear, doesn’t feel anything at all. His dream-self treats it like a fact of life, this light. Something to be expected.

He reaches his hand out, but in never reaches the light. He’s not desperate about it, though, is just intrigued by this ball of energy. He slowly lowers his arm.

It whispers something.

But the whisper is loud, it rings in his ears, it fills his body and mind and soul.

_Lance._

He shoots up in his bed, panting heavily. He places his hand on his chest and feels the push of his heart. Rakes his hair with his other hand as he tries to calm himself.

He leaves his room to get some water from the kitchen, lets himself silently walk around the flat as he listens to some music through his earphones.

After about twenty minutes, the details of the dream become fuzzy, out of reach. He falls asleep.

***

The day is long and draining. The sun it out but the breeze is bitter and unforgiving. He feels the bags under his eyes return.

He waits for Pidge after their final lecture, but she doesn’t appear. Waits another ten minutes before he calls her on his phone.

“Dude,” he says. He taps his foot impatiently.

“What?” he hears her ask. It sounds like she’s outside somewhere, walking.

“What happened to burgers and investigation hour?”

She snorts into her phone. “You sure you called the right person?”

Lance huffs. “Pidge, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she sobers up a little, realising that he’s not just joking around, “I genuinely have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Lance almost drops his phone.

“Ancient worlds and ancient ruins,” he says.

Silence at the end of the line. And then;

“Is that from a game?”

He opens his mouth to try and say something, but nothing comes out.

_She’s forgotten._

He tries to laugh it off, tells her that she was right, he _did_ get her confused with someone else, but it’s coming off as forced. She gives him a confused ‘ _bye?’_ before Lance is hanging up, and he lets himself fall back on one of the seats in the now empty lecture hall. Stares at the concrete wall he is now facing.

_The power of the Blue Lion will be forgotten by all but one._

He thinks -

But…but that doesn’t...

He _can’t_ -

“Lance?” a voice to the right of him asks, and he wants to coat himself in it.

It brings out a smile from him in spite of it all. “Man, am I glad to see you.”

Keith sits himself on the desk beside him so that they’re both emptily watching the wall ahead of them. “Are you okay?”

Question of the century.

Is he okay?

“I don’t think I am,” he admits. It echoes throughout the large room.

In his periphery, he sees Keith turn his head towards him. He turns to him, and finds worry in those eyes of his.

“Talk to me.”

His voice is low and earnest, and Lance finds safety in it.

“Found a few more puzzle pieces,” he laughs. It sounds hollow, even to his ears.

He sees Keith shift forwards, before backing away with regret. He bites his lip before shaking his head. “Let’s take a walk.”

That definitely pulls Lance out of it for a second. “A walk?”

“To your house, around campus, to the grocery store. Wherever you want.”

“The grocery store?” he smiles, “that’s like a forty minute walk.”

Keith lifts his chin up. “Scared of a little exercise?”

He remembers why Keith was such a good rival. He loves competing just as much as Lance does.

But he’s too tired for that right now. “Maybe another day, Mullet. A walk home sounds great. I need to tell you something, anyway.”

They leave the lecture theatre, leave campus, and Lance takes Keith the long way home, which is about a half hour walk. It’s more of an exploration of the small neighbourhood they’ve found themselves in than anything.

“How’s your family?” Keith asks. The question surprises Lance a little.

“They’re good. Leya’s started walking.”

“That’s your niece, right?”

Despite the coolness of the oncoming evening, Lance doesn’t think he needs to wear his green jacket anymore. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “you remembered.”

Keith clears his throat. “I did spend a month in your house, more or less.”

They keep walking. And then, Keith quietly adds, “You have a lovely family.”

Lance blinks. “I thought you’d find them a bit too much. Too loud.” He certainly does, but he’s had a lifetime to get used to it. Thrives in that environment, honestly.

Keith doesn’t look at him, just plays with the gloves he's wearing. “It was nice,” he says after a beat, “I’ve never been in a setting like that before and…it was amazing. To see so much love so casually.”

He can see how uncomfortable Keith is after this admittance, knows that the other boy finds it difficult to express himself, so he also recognises the weight of the words. Appreciates them immensely.

As they continue on, side by side, he notices their hands swing by. They’re so close now.

“I miss them a lot,” Lance confesses, “I miss my mom and Marco and Veronica and Rachel. Miss my little cousins and niece, who grow bigger and bigger when I’m gone. I miss them all so much.”

It’s nice to talk about it. He can talk about it with Hunk, of course, but over the years they’ve used the word homesickness as a shortcut, to let the other know that they’re feeling low. It’s been a while since he’s spoken the words that have resided in his brain for so long now.

They round a corner. Cross a road. Step on some crispy orange leaves.

“I wish I could touch you.” Keith says, almost whispers.

Lance’s eyes shoot wide open, and he jerks to a sharp stop. “What?”

Despite not having a physical body, Keith’s ears still find a way to turn red, so red they look burning to the touch. “That’s not what I meant!” he rushes, “I just – I meant I wanted to _comfort_ you, hold your _hand_ or something, not - !”

Lance laughs. Really, properly laughs. Stands in the middle of the street and holds his stomach with both arms, lets his laughter sing into the air.

“Awh, you want to hold my _hand_ ,” he teases.

“Asshole,” Keith says, but there’s no bite in his voice. In fact, there is only warmth. Hears it like the rays of the sun.

They continue their walk home, with Lance recounting little anecdotes of what he and is siblings used to get up to back in the day, and Lance forgets about the investigation board, about the shack, about the riddle. He really needed this, and wonders how well Keith must know him to have realised this before Lance even did.

They’re both so caught up in Lance’s tales that Keith doesn’t notice Lance taking them around the block more than a few times, and Lance doesn’t notice that he forgot Keith’s jacket hanging on the back of his bedroom door.

***

Once they’re seated on Lance’s bed, Lance starts playing with the material of his duvet. He’s certain he has at least a vague idea of what’s going on now, but he needs Keith to reinforce it all. He just hopes he’ll be smart about this.

“You said you wanted to tell me something?” Keith asks lightly. It calms him down a little.

He and Keith will figure it out.

“I need to ask you a question,” he says carefully, “but don’t feel like you need to answer it if you start to feel… _distant_.”

Keith straightens in recognition. Nods.

“In Cuba, when you got out of the car for the first time. You said something. What did you mean by it?”

There’s dual meaning in that last word, and he can see that Keith knows it.

They have to be careful.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I was in my shack?” Keith asks slowly.

Lance knows there isn’t much to tell, thinks he’s heard all of the shack stories Keith was willing to give, but he plays along. “I don’t think you have.”

Keith laughs and it’s forced and unnatural. He’s a terrible actor, Lance notes. He wonders why this little detail makes him want to smile dopily. “It was a crazy day. I’d spent the day driving around the desert. Had nothing else to do.”

“In your stolen Garrison bike?”

“In my stolen Garrison bike.”

Despite it all, Lance barks a small laugh. “Can’t believe you got away with that.”

Keith shrugs. “I knew where Shiro kept his backup entrance card. Not like they knew where I was going.”

They stare at each other. Lance looks away when he feels his pulse start to build up in rhythm, and Keith clears his throat. Continues his little story. “Anyway. The rest of the day was more or less the same. Normal. Went to get some groceries. Made dinner. Worked on some art. And then I went to sleep.”

He stops, and Lance notices that his eyes have become stony, more serious. He makes sure to listen carefully. “Had the strangest dream,” Keith says in a forced casual tone, “Was at the zoo. Saw a massive lion.”

Lance holds his breath.

Keith continues. “This zoo had talking animals. Said stuff like, uh, ‘ _I’m bored’_ , and ‘ _what time is it_ ,’ and ‘ _you’re not supposed to be here_.’”

He swallows. “Right,” Lance replies.

“I took a picture of some of the animals, the penguins, the birds, the _lion_. They didn’t like that. Then the uh…the zoo made an announcement. Over the speakerphone, said that I had to leave, that they’d ‘ _send me home’_.”

Keith leans back on the headboard. “Then I woke up like this.”

It’s hard to hear, given the fact that Keith can’t even properly _talk_ about it, but.

Keith said he _dreamt_ it.

“Keith,” Lance says cautiously, then whispers, “I don’t think that was a dream.”

Before Keith has a chance to respond, Lance quickly gets out the sheet of paper from yesterday. Keith looks at it. “What is this?”

“A translation.” He gets his phone and opens up the photo of the cave alongside the translation, and Keith’s mouth parts slightly.

“That’s – “

“Yeah,” Lance says. “Read it.”

And read it he does. He doesn’t dare to read it aloud, though, but he spends a couple minutes reading it over and over again.

“The _lion_?”

“Yeah.”

“And…that final line,” Keith says.

_The power of the Blue Lion will be forgotten by all but one._

“Yeah.”

“Do you think that could be about – “

“Why would it be?” It doesn’t make any sense to him. “I’m just some guy.”

“Come on,” Keith says, and shifts closer to him, “you’re not just _some guy_.”

Lance raises his brow. “Says the best pilot the Garrison’s ever seen.”

But Keith doesn’t take the bait. “I’m serious. Piloting is just a skill, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“You’re just saying – “

“I mean it,” Keith says, cutting him off, “Anyone can pilot. But you were born with such a big heart, Lance, a big soul. That’s special. _You’re_ special – and not because of this lion stuff.”

Suddenly, everything feels heavily real. The bed, the walls, Keith’s gaze on him. He wants to reach out. “Keith…”

But he doesn’t. Collects himself. Stands up from the bed and turns away. “Can you translate the shorthand on the post-it notes?”

“…Yeah. Yeah, I can.”

“Good. Great.”

“Lance – “

Someone knocks on the door. “Hey,” Allura calls through the door, “you still on the phone?”

He looks at Keith. Mouths ‘ _sorry’_ before saying, “No. What’s up?”

He sits back on his bed as she enters the room. “I’m ordering some Chinese. Do you want some?”

“Yeah, that’d be great, ‘llura.”

“The usual?”

“Yes please.”

She doesn’t leave. Leans against the door frame and crosses her arms.

Oh no.

“So,” she says, longing the syllable, “was that Keith you were talking to?”

His eyes shoot wide open, feels the back of his neck sweat. Keith, himself, tenses. “Yeah. Why?”

The smile he receives in response and wide and unbearable. “Will I ever meet him?”

He chances a glance to the side of him, and Keith looks confused, but also curious. He decides, what the hell. “Yeah,” he says it with conviction, “hopefully very soon.”

He looks at Keith, properly this time, and hopes he hears the truth, the hope in his voice. Keith’s shoulders fall as he exhales around a smile.

“Soon.”

***

By the time dinner’s arrived, Keith has translated aloud his shorthand, and Lance has written it down on a sheet of paper.

They’re descriptions of the paintings on the wall, which Lance had been expecting, but it’s not just that.

They were _directions_.

Apparently, past-Keith covered all of his bases.

He can’t stop thinking about it all through his dinner, and Allura even comments on it. Says his phone call with Keith must have been _heavy_ , and he doesn’t even deny it. Lets her think what she wants; he’s too absorbed in the fact that he’s so close now, closer than he ever thought he’d be back in the summer.

In all honestly, he doesn’t really know how he feels. There’s the rush of finally understanding something, of getting that much closer. But underneath that, in the shadow of it, there’s fear. Fear that this is something they cannot solve, they cannot handle.

Fear that ultimately, he cannot help Keith.

He feels a pressure on his arm. Sees that Allura is holding it lightly, is trying to comfort him. Apparently, his worry had become apparent.

“Hey,” she says, “I can stop teasing. I didn’t mean to pry.”

He shakes his head and pats Allura’s hand. “You’re good. I’m just getting in my head a little, I guess.”

“You know there’s no need to, right? Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

His chest warms at his friend’s slight misunderstanding. “Thanks, Allura.”

“I mean it!” she says, “and if Keith has you thinking otherwise, let me talk to him. I just want to have a chat.”

He gives a surprised laugh. “Thanks, but he’s been saying…much the opposite.”

He feels himself go red as he inwardly recounts the words.

“Well, then, he has a sensible head on his shoulders.”

They continue to eat their dinner. Trust Allura to help him feel better.

***

Coming back to the room, Keith is staring at random discarded pieces of paper, but with a gentle smile on his face. Lance asks him about it, asks what suddenly got him in such a good mood.

“Nothing,” he replies, but the smile never vanishes. Lance thinks it’s more beautiful than the reflection of the stars on an ocean’s mirror.

***

They agree to travel to the cave in a week’s time.

On the Friday before they were to set off on their journey, Lance sits his practical. His first simulator practical of the semester.

Last semester, when things felt out of balance and out of place without a discernible reason why, he found it difficult to engage and immerse himself in these fake missions.

But now?

Well.

Now Keith’s watching him, with a playful smirk that makes his gut drop in all the right ways.

“Think you can beat my time, McClain?” Keith says, knowing that Lance can’t reply, like the asshole he is. Just circles around where Lance is seated, lets Lance’s eyes follow him.

When Iverson asks if he’s ready, Lance looks straight at Keith. “You know it.”

Keith’s smirk grows until his teeth are showing, and it gives Lance all the power in the world.

He flies.

***

He loses to Keith’s score by about a second.

But since Keith is no longer in the system, Lance has officially the fastest timed simulator practical score in the Garrison.

He’s frozen in his seat, and even Iverson doesn’t move from his spot. He thinks he hears the faint claps of applause, but all he can focus on are the numbers on the screen in front of him.

When he turns his head to the left of the screen, Keith is standing there and clapping in time with everyone else. He sees delight swirled in indigo, and Lance wants to kiss this boy with everything he’s got.

***

It’s late at night. They’re lying on the bed under the duvet, pillow in between them, and they’re both watching the ceiling.

Lance had practically ordered him into bed, said that he was _not_ going to spend his final night as a not-quite ghost roaming about his apartment. He was going to be comfortable, especially if Lance had anything to say about it. Keith didn’t seem to put up much of a fight, just laughed at how eager Lance appeared to be to get him into his bed.

Lance didn’t dignify that with a response.

Lying here now, he’s starting to think that something is weighing on Keith’s mind. He practically tastes it in the air.

“I can hear you thinking.”

“People do that sometimes.”

“Not you,” Lance counters. “You never think. Usually you just say and do whatever you want.”

“You’re worse than Iverson.”

Lance gasps, “How _dare_ you?”

They both giggle into the air.

It patters off, until there’s a warm buzz that can be felt between them. Lance hears the faint wisps of wind against his window.

“I’m scared, Lance.”

Lance rolls his head to its side, to where Keith is lying. “What?”

“Aren’t _you_?”

The navy blue of the night shadows Keith’s face well, but not so well that Lance can’t see the scowl on his face. It’s not malicious, not angry, but it’s serious. He’s been thinking about this for a while.

Lance answers slowly. “Well, yeah. A little nervous. That’s to be expected.”

“No, Lance, I mean _scared_.”

He knows what he means.

Keith continues after a moment. “Apparently, last time I was there, I got my _existence wiped out_. I’m scared…I’m scared the same thing will happen to you.”

His voice isn’t anything above a whisper, but he still hears the honestly in his tone, the fear interlaced with it.

He doesn’t know how to stop him from worrying because he doesn’t have an answer himself. It’s something he’s stopped himself thinking about countless times the past few weeks. But if this is to be the day before they either succeed or fail in bringing Keith back, then this has to be their hour of honestly.

He closes his eyes. “I’m terrified.”

Keith doesn’t say anything, probably senses that Lance isn’t finished, for which Lance is grateful for. He takes a deep breath. “I’m scared of the prophecy, of what it means, of potentially losing everything I’ve ever known. But I’m also scared of not being able to do anything, and that you’ll be stuck like this forever. I’m scared that if you stay like this, then I’ll forget you too.”

Keith speaks, almost cutting him off, “If it’ll keep you safe, forget me. Forget me all the way to the ends of the earth.”

They’re so close now, looking at each other with wide eyes. “You almost sound like you care about me.”

Keith doesn’t blink. “You almost sound like you wouldn’t believe that if it were true.”

Lance swallows. “Is it?”

The sounds of a distant owl fills his room.

“Goodnight, Lance.”

He turns to stare at the ceiling once again. Lance is staring at the side of the face, watches the white moonlight line his profile.

“Goodnight, Keith.”

***

_Lance McClain._

_I have been waiting._

***

It’s the sunlight that streams through his window that wakes him up. Keith is nowhere to be seen, and he idly wonders if he accidentally kicked him in his sleep and sent him away.

Maybe getting him into his bed wasn’t the best idea, thinking on it.

On his walk to the kitchen, he spots a lone figure sitting on the couch in the living room. Smiles at the dark hair he sees.

“Glad to see I didn’t send you packing.” Lance says as he walks into the room, and it has Keith turning his head at the sudden noise.

“You almost did. Half a dozen times.”

“My bad.”

He sits beside him.

“It’ll be okay.” Lance reassures him.

Keith’s mouth twitches a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Not long now.

***

Keith tells him where Shiro has his second entry card hidden, and Lance kind of feels like a spy.

They take one of the hoverbikes and enter the directions into the GPS system. Says it’s about an hour’s drive away.

The sun is high in the morning sky, but Lance can see puffs of warmth as he breathes out. He tightens the jacket he’s wearing, Keith’s jacket, and puts on his helmet. Keith sits to the side of him.

“Ready?” Lance asks.

“Ready.”

They soar into the air.

***

“And I thought _I_ drove fast.”

“No point in stealing if you’re not gonna break some more laws and start speeding.”

“God, I love you.”

Lance’s burst of laughter must fill the entire desert.

***

It takes them a little over an hour, but they make it.

They slowly get off of the bike, and Lance takes off his helmet. Takes in the site in front of him.

They’re surrounded by rocks and boulders, grey and red and orange and everything in between. But at the centre of it all stands an entrance. It seems to suck up all of the light it touches, it must do, because it’s so _dark_. He looks at Keith, and the other boy already has his eyes trained on it. When he makes his move forward, Lance grabs a flashlight out of his bag before pressing on behind him.

They enter. Lance flashes his light haphazardly at first, trying to scan the walls for something, anything important. But they’re unequivocally blank.

“This place ringing any bells for you, man?”

“Nope,” Keith says, then quickly follows it with, “maybe? I don’t know. Head’s kinda fuzzy.”

“Then I guess we walk.”

The deeper they get into the cave, the lighter it becomes. There are many different paths to take, often splitting on into opposite directions, but Lance and Keith agree to follow the path with the most light. So they walk. They walk and they walk and they walk. The light gets brighter, and Lance begins to notice the tinges of blue in the centre of it. Like a feeling of blue. He’s not sure if that even makes sense, so he doesn’t voice his observation.

They chat, of course they do, but their words are doused in apprehension and drenched in worry.

They can both feel it, he thinks. Feel something in the air.

“Hey, look there,” Keith points. Lance follows, and lo and behold.

It’s the hieroglyphics.

“We can’t be far now.” Lance says.

They take it a bit more slowly now. Lance holds onto his flashlight with a vice’s grip, and keeps it firmly pointed to the front of them. There seems to only be more path and more rock welcoming them.

“Really wishing I could hold your hand right now,” Lance whispers.

“Awh, you want to hold my _hand_.”

“Now is _not_ the time to be cute, Mullet.”

He hates how in the face of imminent danger Keith has a way of making him feel lighter than air.

 _Lance_.

“Did you say something?” he asks.

“No,” Keith says absently, keeping his gaze focused on the path ahead.

He shakes it off. He thinks they’re getting close now anyway.

Their steps echo throughout the expanse of empty.

 _Lance_.

He twists his head behind him in a flash, but nothing is there. Stays looking for a long moment before he walks on.

_I have been waiting._

A white noise rings in his ear.

It gets louder and louder, until it screeches. It screams.

He thinks he’s fallen to the floor, but what does it matter when there’s all this _screeching_ , all the _pain?_

He grabs a hold of his head to try and lessen it, but it doesn’t work. There’s twin pressures on his shoulders, his face, the back of his head, but it’s hard to focus on them, on where they’re coming from.

He wants to cry, to curl up into the arms holding him, but even the thought of that takes up more energy than he has. This pain is beyond anything he’s ever felt, he feels paralysed by it.

He thinks he’s on the brink of passing out.

Then, a white light shines.

***

He opens his eyes, and it’s akin to the sensation of opening your eyes against the harshness of the sun. This is the only pain he feels now, and it’s not pain at all. Just a mild discomfort.

“Lance? Oh my God, _Lance_.”

A body crashes into his, and it almost has him falling back onto the floor. He quickly adjusts though, tightens his hands around the body that has found itself in his arms.

He realises a second too late, and quickly pushes Keith off of him. “What are you doing! You’ll…you’ll – “

But Keith is still there.

He’s standing there, real and tangible.

“You didn’t disappear?”

“And you’re not screaming in pain.”

They stare at each other a moment longer, before deciding that there’s too much distance between them, and they crash into a hug once more.

“Are you okay?” Keith asks desperately into the junction of his neck and shoulder. “You started screaming, and you were in pain, and then suddenly you _stopped_ but you weren’t saying anything. What happened?”

Lance feels Keith’s hair tickle his nose, his chin. “I don’t know. I heard something, and then all I heard was screaming. Why can I touch you now?”

“I don’t know! When I saw you like that, I didn’t even think, I just reached out to you and held you and…well, now we’re here.”

He extracts himself from Keith, but not so far that they’re not still in each other’s arms. “Where _is_ here?” he asks.

_Lance McClain._

It’s a booming voice, louder than anything he’s ever heard, like it’s vibrating within his skull, but somehow it doesn’t hurt at all. It makes the two boys jump away from each other.

_My blue paladin._

A blue light shines, big and vague and beautiful.

His blood runs cold.

He recognises it. Recognises the figure and recognises the voice.

“You were in my dream,” he says. “You’ve been calling out to me in my dreams for _months_.”

_That I have._

The light begins to shift, begins to morph into something new. It must only take a few moments, because within a blink of an eye, a large, ethereal looking lion stares down at them.

He feels a hand slip into his.

His head’s starting to hurt.

 _My apologies_ , the voice says, _I believed you were able to understand my true language. I was wrong._

Lance tenses. “That screaming was _you_?”

 _Yes_.

“Lance, what’s going on?”

Lance looks up at the being. “I think this is the Blue Lion.”

_You are correct._

“What do you want? You said you’ve been waiting for me; why?”

_The message on the walls of my prison. You have read them._

Lance frowns at the word ‘prison’. “Yeah?”

_Then you must know that you are the only one who can control my power. You are the only one who can set me free._

He gapes.

Scrunches his eyes closed to try and get his head around things.

If he’s the only one who can ever remember the Blue Lion, then only he can be the one to remember to set it free. But then that begs an even bigger question, one that has him wanting to tear out his hair. He takes a step forward, but Keith stays back, so his arm lays behind him slightly.

“But why me?”

_It was written. You are no fool, nor a being hungry for power._

“I’m a _piloting student_.”

_You are the light the stars shine on the earth. The warmth that covers the seas. You are Lance McClain._

Right.

Okay.

"Very poetic."

_It is the truth._

This isn’t getting him anywhere.

He looks back at Keith. He looks bewildered, looks scared and awestruck. Lance tightens the hand holding onto his before turning back and letting go.

“Fine, whatever, I’m a star. Cool. You said I have your power? Then I can use it to bring Keith back, right?”

Something hits him. It's not physical, but it bursts within him nonetheless.

It's sudden and all consuming.

Whispers of fury burn within him, runs through his veins instead of blood, and makes the world ugly and dark.

This is not _his_ rage.

“What are you doing to me?” he yells, almost frantic.

_This is not my doing._

“Like hell it’s not!”

 _This is not my doing,_ the voice repeats. _These are the defense spells put on this cave by the Alteans. To protect the secret of my existence._

“Then why am I so fucking angry?”

_So you will protect the secret of my existence._

Right. Because his anger will give him sudden fighting powers.

Fuck, so this _Altean_ magic was what made him feel all weird and funky when he was on the roof? Telling Pidge to keep it a secret? Wanting to keep everything a secret _himself_?

He almost wants to laugh. Lion had said it with such finality, as well, like it’s just the way things are. Like this isn’t so incredibly bizarre. Maybe for an ancient being, it’s not.

Lance takes a calming breath, then takes some more. Curls his hand into a first. “Whatever. Just tell me how to bring Keith back so I can leave.”

“Lance, maybe we should – “

“We’re not leaving!” he snaps, then winces. Looks back at Keith with guilt in his eyes. “Sorry.”

“I get it. Alty magic.”

 _Altean_.

“Whatever.”

_Your friend lies in the deep pits of the forgotten, my paladin. The only way to bring him back is to sacrifice something physical and something metaphysical, and both must be intertwined with him._

Lance looks down at himself, then back up at the lion. “I have his jacket. That’ll work, right?”

 _Yes_.

“Now something metaphysical…” he looks back at Keith, who shrugs. “What the hell does that mean?”

 _It means_ , Lion says, _that he is forgotten. He needs memories of him to flow back into the universe for the order of things to align once again._

Lance groans. “I can’t just go to the fucking _store_ and buy – “

He cuts himself off.

Keith needs memories.

_I am sorry, my paladin._

Where else will they get memories of him if everyone else has forgotten him?

“Lance…”

If he wants to save Keith…

There’s no question about it.

To keep Keith safe, he’ll do anything. Anything at all.

He completely turns his back to Lion and takes a step closer to Keith. Tries to study every little detail of him, tries to memorise him by heart. Doesn’t even dare to blink.

“Guess you’re getting what you want, Mullet,” he laughs, but he feels of his throat starting to choke up.

“ _Lance_.”

“Ends of the earth, you said. To keep me safe.”

Keith’s eyes are turning red. He lifts his gloved hand to Lance’s face, gently cups his cheek. “And I meant it.”

He holds onto Keith’s wrists. “You’ll wait for me, yeah?”

He can see tears begin to glisten Keith's eyes. He doesn’t seem to be able to speak.

So Lance carries on. “Because I know I can get stuck in my head a lot. Talk a lot,” he starts chuckling, “I’ll probably glare at you a ton. But take your time with me, yeah? If you want.”

Keith shakes his head before pulling him into a hug. “Of course. And I like how much you talk. Always have.”

His arms crawl up Keith’s back. “And I like _you_. Always have.”

Keith pulls back to look at him.

Lance shrugs. “Not like I’m gonna remember this, anyway. Let me speak my embarrassing truths.”

“No, I just. I can’t believe that, is all.”

“I was obsessed with you for _years_ , and you can’t believe it?”

“I was _just_ as obsessed with you. Ask Shiro.”

“Well, that’s a given,” he says, “I’m pretty irresistible.”

Keith lets out a laugh, but it’s wet and a little snotty. “You’re an idiot. I like you too. Of _course_ I like you.”

That makes his gut drop, his chest warm, his heart sing.

But it’s bittersweet.

He leans his forehead on Keith’s. Closes his eyes.

They stand there, in their own little bubble. Like nothing else in the whole universe matters. Because right now, it doesn’t.

“Can I kiss you?” Keith asks quietly.

Lance feels a stray tear stream down his cheek. “Thought you’d never ask.”

They lean in. It’s a press of lips, a shared contact of heat.

But it’s more than that. He feels it in his hands, in his chest, in his head. Feels it in how he breathes, and he feels like he could soar through the air. The warmth spreads from his lips to the rest of his body, and he gets lost in the sensation.

It delves into two kisses, then three, until Lance loses count. It’s gotten more desperate, like this will be the last time either of them will ever see each other again.

But it won’t be. He knows it in his heart.

They both, reluctantly, pull away. Lance tucks a loose strand of Keith’s hair behind his ear.

“Not half bad.”

“Shut up.”

Lance chuckles. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Keith nods, but his mouth is sealed and he’s thinned his lips, like he’s holding something in. He can’t bear to see this look of sadness on his face. He tries to smooth out the frown on the other boy’s forehead with his thumb. Places a lingering kiss where his thumb was.

He turns away from him and looks at Lion.

“I’m ready,” he says.

 _Good_.

“But before you do anything,” he says confidently, chin up and standing his ground, “I have a request.”

_My paladin?_

“I do not wish to wield this power. I have no use for it.”

_I do not understand._

Lance take a step closer. “As a final act, I want to use this power to set you free. So you can live amongst the stars.” He pauses. “Uh, I can do that, right?”

_…There is no rule against it._

“Well then,” he says, a little awkwardly, “I’ll do that, then. Please.”

He hears Keith snort somewhere behind him, and it makes his skin tingle. He’s glad he was able to make Keith laugh. A good way to go out, he thinks.

_Thank you, my paladin._

He looks at Keith one last time.

“Until next time, Mullet.”

White light floods the room, until it’s all he knows.


	5. Chapter 5

The room filters none of the sunlight that the summer day bares, but brings in all of its heat. The leather Lance is sitting on is hot and uncomfortable, and he hears the squeaks of shoes and idle chatter of his other classmates as they fidget in their spots. The heat is getting to them all.

Lance’s knuckles pale as he holds onto the plastic in front of him.

“Ready, Cadet 09?” Iverson’s harsh voice rings out through the humid air.

But that’s not what Lance focuses on at that moment.

There, to the edge of the crowd of students. Fingerless biker gloves and tied up dark hair.

Keith Kogane.

He blinks, like he can’t believe he’s standing there.

But that’s weird in itself. Keith’s been his sworn rival for four years now.

The other boy is staring back at him.

“Cadet?”

Lance shakes his head.

“Born ready, sir.”

He hears the automated voice of the simulator, telling him he may begin. He feels a heavy gaze on the back of his head.

He puts in all of his strength as he pushes the controllers forwards. Begins the mission.

***

“That was amazing, dude!” Hunk says, crushing him in a side hug.

Lance holds his chin in his hand, in a way too self-satisfied manner. “I’m just _that_ good.”

“Still not as good as my time, though,” a voice pipes from behind them.

Keith.

“And who asked you?” Lance says as he looks back at him.

Keith shrugs. “Just an observation.”

“Well you can shove – “

“Lance!” Allura shouts from the other end of the corridor. He waves at her, but then decides he still hasn’t given Keith a piece of his mind yet, so turns back to him.

He’s gone.

***

The heat of early June is unforgiving. They’re sitting outside in their usual place, him, Hunk and Allura, and they’re all lazily laying out in the sun. Lance is perched against a tree, and he has a great view of the whole campus.

Hunk’s talking about classes and Shay and anything else that comes to mind, but Lance has his attention drifting.

There, so far it’s almost in the distance, is Keith and Shiro talking to one another. This isn’t abnormal, everyone knows that Shiro is basically Keith’s mentor. It’s what Keith does next that has Lance trying to refocus.

He hugs him. Shiro appears just as shocked as Lance, because he freezes, but that apparently does not deter Keith. Just keeps hugging him. Shiro does, eventually, pat his back with a warm laugh.

No one else notices, though.

He doesn’t bring it up. Hunk says he’s obsessed enough as it is.

***

“Hey Lance. This is Pidge – she’s new. Transferred here last week. She’s in my mechanics class.”

Lance looks up, a friendly smile already plastered across his face.

A feeling washes over him. A feeling of recognition.

For one, strange second, Lance believes he knows her.

But he doesn’t. She looks distant and there’s no smile in her voice. No hint that she knows him, why would there be?

This is probably one of those déjà vu things. Yeah.

He drinks the water in his plastic cup in one gulp.

***

He’s half an hour early for his lecture. Which is strange, he’s never punctual for anything, but he’s coming to accept that things around him have been weird for weeks now. He’s starting to just go with the flow, at this point.

Someone sits in the seat directly in front of his.

He’d recognise that mullet anywhere.

“Keith?”

The other boy goes to face him, and seems slightly taken aback to find Lance there. “Uh, hey?”

“Since when do you come to lectures?”

“Since always?”

“That’s a lie,” Lance says.

Keith smirks and rests his arms on Lance’s desk. “Didn’t realise you were paying so much attention to me.”

Lance’s cheeks heat as he scowls. “I don’t. Just. The same people always come. You’re not one of them.”

Keith doesn’t say anything, but the look he’s wearing is infuriating. Like he can see right through him.

“It’s about time I upped my game.” Keith says after a beat, “especially now that you’re catching up.”

He almost sounds playful. It’s making Lance feel too many confusing things, and none of them bad. “Finally acknowledging that, then?”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Try and stop me.”

They’re kind of just. Grinning at each other. It feels comfortable, like they’ve done this a million times before.

But they haven’t.

The opening of the wooden doors breaks through the lecture hall, causing his attention to shift towards it. Allura is striding up the stairs and waves at him.

“Didn’t think I’d find anyone else here,” she notes, plopping her notepad in the space next to Lance. “Oh, hey, Keith.”

He nods at her. “Hey, Allura.”

Then she turns back to chat to Lance. He always enjoys talking to her, but he can’t help the occasional glance he sends back towards Keith’s direction as she speaks.

***

June soon turns to July, and the end of the academic year can be felt by all. The professors are acting more lenient, the students are acting more rowdy, and the humid heat is making every just a tiny bit delirious. It’s better during the nights, he thinks, but not by much.

He can’t sleep. His pathetic excuse for a duvet is clinging onto his legs, and it’s making him feel trapped, like he’s in a box. Gabriel, for once, is actually in the room with him, so he has to be next to silent in his escape. Grabs hold of a lone t-shirt hanging somewhere on his chair, takes his keys, and heads out.

It’s almost like his legs are leading the way without any input from his brain. A muscle memory. He’s walking with purpose, walks through the building like he knows exactly where he’s going. Climbs up and up the stairs, and it’s never ending.

When he reaches the very top, there’s a door. It’s not locked. Just a plain maroon door, with some of the paint chipped away at the edges.

He pushes it open. Navy darkness greets him like an old friend.

It’s a rooftop. He didn’t even know this place _had_ a rooftop.

However, perhaps the most surprising thing about this all, is that he is not alone.

“Lance?”

He looks down at where Keith is sitting, against a wall with his knees bunched up. He’s in a similar attire to him, long shorts and old shirt, and he looks tired.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Lance asks.

The other boy makes a noncommittal noise in affirmation, and leans back to look at the view ahead. Lance joins him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Lance says. “how do you even know about this place?”

“I’ve always known about this place. Surprised it took you this long to find it.”

Lance is, too.

It’s a kind of ugly little area, unkempt and worse for ware, but he feels like he knows this place. Feels safe here.

“Nice view,” he notes. Ursa Minor has made an appearance tonight.

“’s why I like it.”

He’s starting to feel his palms sweat, but he doesn’t think it has anything to do with the summer heat.

“Something on your mind?” Keith asks, “you haven’t started a fight with me yet.”

Lance chuckles. “The night’s still young.”

But Keith’s right. Something is on his mind. Has been for a while now.

Every time he thinks he gets close to figuring out what it is, he ends up facing a mental wall, and all his progress lies just out of reach. Like a familiar scent from a long forgotten memory.

But which memory has he forgotten?

“I can get into the bike shed,” Keith says suddenly.

Lance scrunches his brow. “Right.”

“I hear bike rides help clear the mind.”

Lance studies the other boy. “What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing,” Keith says, before standing up and dusting himself off. He then extends his hand to him, “just that there’s a room full of hoverbikes that are begging to be ridden. Would be a waste of money if we left them there, rotting away.”

Lance looks at him, bewildered. Takes his hand and gets up. “And you have access?”

He slips out a card from his pocket and holds it between his fingers, waves it in front of Lance’s face. “Yep.”

He takes the card from him and looks at it. Reads the name; _Takashi Shirogane_.

Woah. Déjà vu. Again.

He blinks the feeling away.

Well, he’s not going to say _no_ at a chance to ride a hoverbike. They _never_ get to do that.

“Lead the way, Mullet.”

***

They ride. They soar through the wind of the desert, and it’s exhilarating. The only thing on his mind is beating Keith.

The other boy is good. In his earlier years, it was incredibly frustrating, to watch him wield so much skill and make it look so easy. But now, as he watches on, he can appreciate it for what it is.

And, well. The view from behind isn’t too bad, either.

He almost crashes at the thought. He doesn’t, though, gets a hold of things before things go awry. He’s a good pilot that way.

They continue to ride well into the night, and both boys end up shouting into the air, voices filled with joy and adrenaline.

Their time eventually ends. They get tired, need to head back to bed for the coming week of tutorials. Lance fears the awkwardness that’ll come with getting off of the bikes, of having to bid each other a tense farewell.

He braces himself for it, but it never comes. They bicker about who was faster (…Keith, begrudgingly) and who had the better tactical skill (Lance, obviously). They chat like this all the way to Lance’s dorm, where Keith drops him off.

“Don’t you live off campus?” Lance asks.

“Needed the walk. To work out the, uh, the adrenaline.”

This boy is a terrible liar. He sees it in the way Keith shifts his eyes, how he fiddles with his fingers, which are bare of his usual gloves. Hates how fond it all makes him feel.

“Thanks. For tonight. Didn’t realise how much I needed that.”

Keith’s eyes stop shifting, they look directly into his, and he wears a rare smile that he hasn’t seen before, but then why does it feel like home?

“Of course, Lance.”

…Whatever. Things are so weird already, what’s one more questionable action?

He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to Keith’s cheek. He can blame it on his lack of sleep tomorrow.

“See you around.” He says it in a rush, to the point where it’s almost unintelligible.

Keith is frozen where he’s standing, wide eyes fixed on him, but Lance can’t face the embarrassment, so he quickly closes the door on Keith’s face and leans back against it. Lets out a breath.

He just kissed Keith Kogane.

His sworn rival.

Cards his hand through his tangled hair.

The smile that creeps up on his face makes his cheeks ache, and it stays there until he falls asleep.

***

It’s three days before summer break. It’s five days until Lance leaves for Cuba. He feels a buzz thrum through his veins, and it’s making his leg bounce with so much vigour and energy that he’s sure he’ll feel the aftershocks of it when he’ll try to fall asleep tonight.

This is his final tutorial of fourth year. The final time he will see this class in this setting, what with his stream changing next year. Everyone has taken off their Garrison jackets, all sporting tank tops and loose t-shirts – Lance being one of them.

People are still filtering in, but Lance isn’t looking for people. Just a very specific person.

He doesn’t know why, though. Doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say, if things are supposed to be different now, but the anticipation is starting to get to him.

It was just a kiss on the cheek. He is almost twenty three damn years old! He should not be this affected by such a fleeting _peck_.

But then Keith strolls in, and all logic gets logged out the window, because he starts to feel it in his cheeks, and now the bounce in his leg is going overboard –

Keith takes a seat right next to him. Doesn’t even pause for thought as he spots Lance and walks towards him. He doesn’t say anything at first, just makes himself comfortable. He hasn’t brought anything with him, Lance notices, not even the sheet of paper he was supposed to fill in.

For some reason, that pulls Lance out of his nerves. He looks down at the blank desk then up at Keith. “You’re not using my notes.”

Keith leans back and crosses his arms. “This is the thanks I get for our midnight bike ride?”

“Oh, yeah, a completely selfless act that you didn’t also enjoy?”

“Always did hate hoverbikes.”

“Of course you did.”

Keith’s answering laugh sounds like velvet. It’s almost difficult to think that, before even a few months ago, seeing Keith without his frown was almost unheard of. Happiness suits him incredibly well.

This shift between them. It’s unexpected, it’s new.

But it’s not new. Doesn’t _feel_ new.

It feels…–

“Lance?”

He blinks and looks at Keith, surprised to find worry in those eyes. “Yeah?”

“You good? You look,” he pauses, “stuck in your world.”

_Stuck in your world._

“Funny, my mom says that.”

_Every world is a head._

“Yeah, a friend mentioned it, once.”

“Smart friend.”

Keith looks at him. “Yeah, he is.”

He kind of feels like they’re both having different conversations, but before he can say anything else the professor begins the tutorial, and the class rushes to silence.

Lance doesn’t share his sheet of answers, but does let Keith look over his shoulder. He feels the solid warmth against his left arm, and it takes a lot of power in him to not lean against it.

They exchange numbers at the end of the lesson, per Keith’s request. It catches him off guard so much that he barely says a thing during the exchange, just wordlessly types his number into Keith’s phone. Keith throws his phone in the air like it’s nothing and makes his way out of the classroom, and Lance wonders if the other boy will ever stop surprising him.

***

Their final day. Hunk hugs him goodbye, having booked his and Shay’s flight for that same day, and Allura and Pidge plan to take him to a lovely little diner they often frequent.

Before they’re about to leave, he spots Keith amongst a crowd.

He puts his hand in the air, but doesn’t wave it. Lance does the same, and the answering grin he receives makes him want to melt onto the ground.

***

He makes it to Cuba.

The sun shines, his mother yells at him for banging so much on the door, and all his younger cousins crowd him in welcome.

It warms his heart, to finally see all of his family in one setting.

He’s finally home.

***

He goes to the beach, he drives his car, he sings some songs to his cousins, tries to cook a barbeque. Everything feels so right and in its place, more so then it ever has before, so he wonders why it feels like he’s missing something.

***

_(10:29)_

_Happy birthday, Lance. Hope it’s a good one._

He’s holding his phone like it’s the most precious thing he owns. It’s a simple message, but it makes him lie back in bed with a lazy smile on his face nonetheless.

_(10:35)_

_Expecting expensive gifts from you when we come back in September, Mullet._

He can practically hear Keith’s chuckle through the phone.

_(10:39)_

_For you? Anything._

He knows Keith’s being sarcastic, but he can’t help the wave of happiness that washes over him.

***

They text. Not as often as he and Hunk do, but often enough that his siblings decide to comment on it. It takes them a week to learn that it’s Keith he’s talking to, and the shared looks of slight disbelief at the admission makes him want to either laugh at them or hide away in his room.

But then Keith will text him something sarcastic, or something completely out of context, and Lance kind of forgets everything else. For those few minutes, these two boys are in their own little world. It’s nice.

***

When he dreams, it’s of indigo and fire and the stars.

He can’t help but wonder if he’s had this dream before.

***

When he leaves Cuba, his little cousins seem so sad, so distant, that he can’t help but crouch down to their level.

“Come on,” he says, “you know what they say.”

“What do they say?” Mora asks.

“Life is short,” Lance pauses, “but it barely takes a second to smile.”

The resulting smiles they sport are big and sudden, and it reminds Lance of a distant memory. Just out of reach. It’s become such a familiar feeling that his frustration is faint.

***

He looks at his lone reflection on the window he’s sitting at as he’s waiting to board his plane.

“Smiling takes no time at all.”

***

He arrives in Arizona after five hours. Takes a taxi to his new flat that he’s sharing with Allura. Starts the long process of unpacking.

His actions are automatic, like he’s on pilot mode, like he’s done this all before.

***

“Lancey-Lance!”

“Hunky man!”

Just another day.

***

Well, not quite.

It’s the first day of the semester, first day of the year. That can only mean one thing.

Hoverbike day.

They’re all seated around Shiro, but Lance isn’t listening. Keeps whispering to the boy who’s sitting next to him, who’s doing a poor show of hiding his amusement.

“Keith, be quiet, or I’ll pull you out of this lesson.”

Keith rolls his eyes, “I’m sure I’ll make time for my own lessons.”

He says it so bluntly and boldly, and it shockingly pulls a laugh out of their instructor. “Try it, I’ll send you to Iverson.”

That has Keith stilling. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Shiro sends a truly horrifying smirk his way before addressing the class once more, as if that little conversation hadn’t just happened. Lance snickers into his hand.

“That shut you up.”

Keith jabs him with his elbow. “I’ll shut _you_ up in a second.”

“Oh, please do.”

This time, Shiro shouts at the both of them for laughing too loud.

They eventually get to ride the bikes, six at a time, in alphabetical order.

So really, the resulting brutal race between Lance and Keith can only be blamed on the system Shiro had implemented. They’re right next to each other in the register, after all.

***

“-and you should have seen it. Lance and Keith, _neck and neck_ –“

“Must you refer to yourself in third person?” Keith says through his fingertips. His chin is resting on the palm of his hand and, despite his words, he seems to be watching Lance with soft eyes.

“-but, at the final second, _boom_! Lance McClain, fastest pilot, wins all the glory!”

Hunk claps and Allura rolls her eyes. Pidge pats the side of Keith’s knee in commiseration.

September is slowly parting from the arms of summer, so they’re all enjoying their lunch outside before it becomes too cold to do so. Lance had to pull Keith in to sit with them under the guise that he had to bear the weight of Lance being the new best pilot in the world, but honestly? He just wanted Keith there. Nothing more to it.

So when he starts to see Keith open up and make his own little jokes and quips, he starts to feel content. Like this was how it was always supposed to be.

***

Before he leaves to go back to his apartment, Keith quietly pulls him aside.

“It’s not the expensive gift you wanted, but I hope you like it anyway.”

There, in his hand, is something clumsily wrapped in tissue paper.

He slowly takes it from Keith after the other boy pushes it forwards a little. Opens it with bated breath. It’s an ornament, a transparent dolphin ornament.

When he looks up, Keith is scratching the back of his neck. “Had a lot of time on my hands, this summer. Sorry if it looks rough, I’m still trying to get the hang of it.”

“You made this?”

Keith nods.

Lance holds onto it a little tighter.

“I love it Keith. It’s beautiful.”

He doesn’t even try to stop himself, just envelops the other boy in a hug. It’s as easy a breathing, he finds, hugging Keith. He feels Keith’s arm encircle his back, and he never wants to let go.

***

When he holds his gift up against his window, the dolphin adopts the colours of the night sky, and Lance can even spot some of the distorted light from the stars through the figure.

He places it on his windowsill.

***

“Can anyone tell me what the answer is?” Iverson asks the class. When he’s greeted with silence, he rolls his eyes. “An answer, cadets, I haven’t got all day.”

“84.9,” both Keith and Lance say simultaneously.

Everyone turns their heads to look at them.

Lance isn’t quite sure how he knows the answer, but the look of shock on Iverson’s face has him not thinking about it too much.

When he turns to Keith, he has a strange look in his eye.

***

October creeps up on them, and so does the cold weather. Most students have opted to wearing their Garrison jackets again, and some have begun to wear their own jackets on top of their Garrison issued ones. Lance is of the latter group.

Keith is of the former.

“Where’s your jacket?”

Keith lowers his brow in confusion. “Huh?”

They’re walking to their lab practical, which is in a different building to where they just had their lecture. “You know, the red one. The one you always wear.”

For a moment, Keith looks distant, like he was reliving a memory. He looks away. “Lost it.”

“You lost it?”

“Yeah,” he says, tightening the strap of his bag.

He doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about it, so he won’t push. But it does make him sad. Lance always did have a soft spot for that jacket.

***

He’s lounging on his couch, eating some Chinese food he ordered as his eyes are fixed on the television in front of him when Allura makes her way through the door, throwing her bag to the side of it.

“Long day?” he shouts to her.

“Too long. Need a shower.”

Just as he’s about to take a bite out of his chicken piece, he’s reminded of something and runs to Allura. It’s uncoordinated and awkward, his socks sliding through the smooth floor, but he makes it.

Allura takes in his dishevelled look and raises her brow.

Lance gives her a sheepish smile.

“I need a favour.”

***

First simulator practical of the year.

He feels Keith watching him, playful smirk and arms crossed, and it gives him so much energy it’s a surprise he hasn’t jumped right off of the seat.

Iverson asks if he’s ready, but doesn’t look up from his clipboard.

“You know it.”

He flies.

***

“Holy fuck.”

Everyone seems to be in a similar state of mind to him, because silence befalls the hall.

There.

On the screen.

Lance’s name. On top of Keith’s.

He’s beaten Keith’s time. By point two of a second.

After a tense moment, chaos ensues, with people clapping and cheering their awe. But he ignores it all, looks for the one face he cares about the most. Looks at Keith.

He’s wearing such a bright grin, the biggest Lance has ever seen, and it has him getting up from his seat and launching himself into Keith’s arms. Keith twirls him very slightly with a giggle.

“That was amazing,” Keith says into his shoulder.

“I can’t believe it.”

They part. “I can,” Keith says.

Lance can’t handle the look the other boy gives him, so he opts to ruffle his hair. “You’re so mushy.”

Keith just laughs, trying to dodge Lance’s invading hands.

***

He invites Keith to his flat a week later. Says he’s really struggling with all of the astrophysics tutorials they have coming up, that it’s just not getting through to his head.

This is a lie. Lance is a much better actor than Keith is.

Keith tries to take his answer sheets out of his bag many times, but Lance finds creative ways to stop him. Gives him a tour of the place, which was just _oh so_ tiring, so they just _had_ to order in some food, but then they couldn’t study as they waited because Lance _hated_ it when he had to break his flow of studying.

The food comes, eventually. They go to watch some television, and Keith seems completely transfixed on it, which is a good for Lance. He excuses himself, says he’s going to take their rubbish to the kitchen, and stops Keith from trying to help. It’s a difficult ordeal, but Lance manages.

When he comes back, he has a large neat box in his arms, red and tied with a ribbon.

He closes the television and sits beside Keith. Any potential complaint dies on the other boy’s tongue when he sees what Lance is holding.

“Happy birthday, Keith.”

Technically, his birthday is tomorrow, but he remembers Keith mentioning that he was going to go hiking with his brother, and he couldn’t wait until Sunday because he wanted to see Keith’s reaction as soon as possible.

Keith, eyes wide and speechless, gingerly takes the box out of his hands and places it on his lap. Opens it so slowly, with nimble fingers and a delicate touch. The lid is removed and the present is revealed.

“A jacket?”

“Yeah,” Lance says, but his throat has become dry so it’s almost a croak. “I made you a new one. Well, with a _lot_ of help from Allura. You said you lost your old one, and you made me _my_ present, so it only seemed appropriate.”

It was a lot of work. Considering he had never stitched a thing before in his life, and even now Lance can spot some of his shoddy work, Allura was incredibly patient with him. She had helped an incredible amount when Lance had shown her the design he had drawn out; she’d helped bring it to life, and then some. Lance wonders how he’ll be able to repay her.

Keith puts the jacket back down into the box and turns to him. Lance spots some moisture in his eyes. “You need to stop one-upping me, McClain. I’ll have to give you the world, next.”

_Not if I give you mine first._

He doesn’t say that, of course. Just gloats that he can’t help how amazing he is.

When Allura comes home, she finds them still on the couch with Keith wearing his new jacket. It’s reminiscent of his old one, but this one isn’t cropped, and Lance added a hood to it. He also added a few pockets to it, thinking that Keith would appreciate them.

“Nice jacket, Keith,” she says as she joins them on the couch.

“I hear I have you to thank for it.”

She laughs. “It’s been a difficult few weeks.”

Lance playfully shoves her, “Don’t pretend I wasn’t a joy to be around.”

“So many nights of, _‘Oh, Allura, I screwed up the stitching again!’_. If Lance doesn’t wake me up in the middle of the night again with a needle in his hand, it’ll be too soon.”

Maybe this is how Lance is repaying her. By allowing her to embarrass him in front of Keith.

“Thank you guys for this. Really, I mean it. You didn’t have to.”

Allura blinks at him. “Of course we did. You’re our friend.”

Lance isn’t sure who instigates it, but suddenly all three of them find themselves in a hug, a _huddle_ , arms around shoulders and backs and it’s a _mess_. Lance isn’t sure who’s hair it is, but it’s found its way into his mouth, and he dramatically spits it out, and makes a lot of noise doing so. They all giggle into the hours of the evening.

***

Keith sends him a picture the next day, of him and Shiro at the top of a mountain, with a truly breath-taking view. The red of his jacket stands out against the greyish green and mist of the distant fog.

***

“Allura,” he says one evening.

“Yes?”

“I like Keith.”

“Yes.”

“Like, _really_ like him.”

“Yes.”

“You know?”

“Yes.”

“Am I that obvious?”

Allura giggles. “A little.”

He shoves his head into the cushion of the sofa and groans. Allura pats him on the shoulder in comfort.

***

_(23:49)_

_Hey, you awake?_

_(23:55)_

_Yeah. Everything okay?_

_(23:56)_

_Want to go on another bike ride?_

_(23:56)_

_Didn’t Shiro threaten to send you to Iverson?_

_(23:58)_

_Lol._

_(23:58)_

_…_

_(23:59)_

_I’m on my way._

***

It’s getting difficult to not blurt out how much he likes Keith to his face.

Lance has always worn his heart on his sleeve, and Hunk has told him many a time that it shows. With Allura, it was in how much he used to flirt with her. With Keith, it was in the bickering and rivalry.

But now things have changed. Their bickering now is always so playful, and the rivalry is more a game at this point than anything else. And he likes it. He really, really likes it.

And he thinks, maybe, that Keith does too.

He doesn’t want to accidentally blurt out his feelings, no matter how on brand that probably would be for him. Keith deserves better than that, he thinks. Deserves someone who will bare their whole heart to him.

They’re only a week off from their Christmas break. He’s booked his flight back to Cuba for the same day, and Keith will be going to Japan with Shiro the following day and spending it with his adopted family there. The week’s deadline is ticking away in his head. He’s finding it difficult to find the right time.

He can’t do it at lunch, because all of their friends are there, and as much as he loves them, this is something private. Also, he doesn’t think Keith would appreciate all those eyes on him.

He can’t do it when they’re walking home, that feels too casual.

He can’t do it when they’re studying, or when they’ve gone out for dinner, or for lunch, or –

He’s scared. Terrified.

He leans back against the wall. Stares up at the starry sky. It’s cold up here, on the roof. He’s wearing his jacket and a scarf. The short days have given them longer nights, but he thinks he should probably get going soon. His rumbling stomach agrees.

He puts his hood up and lies down, looks at the sky one last time before he gets going.

Spreads his arms out. Lets the palms of his hands lightly scrape the gravel beneath them. Does this for a few minutes before he stops in an instant.

Something’s wrong.

He sits up and scans the gravel.

Where are the coordinates?

They were _right_ –

He stumbles back against the wall and rubs at his temple.

What the hell was he talking about?

***

“Hey, Lancey-man, you good?”

Lance gives Hunk a tired smile. “Of course.”

“You look tired.”

Lance goes to wrap his arm around Hunk’s shoulder as they walk on ahead to their final lecture of the year. “Just ready for Christmas break to come.”

Hunk laughs and wraps his own arm around Lance. “Aren’t we all.”

***

He chews on the end of his pen so much that it now has permanent bite marks engraved onto it as he tries to listen to the lecturer at the front of the theatre. Keith’s sitting to the side of him and nudges him, giving him a look of concern. Lance gives him a half smile.

A few minutes later, Keith slides him a bit of paper.

_You look sad._

Lance is about to refute it all, but his hand starts writing all on its own.

_Feel sad._

He looks at what he’s written. It’s so reminiscent of...something.

He gives it to Keith all the same, who looks at the note for a while before he starts writing something down and sliding it back to him.

When Lance reads it, it almost makes his heart stop altogether.

_Good friend once told me. Life is short, but smiling takes no time at all._

Lance doesn’t write anything this time. Looks at Keith with his mouth slightly agape. He doesn’t care for the lecture currently going on at this point, not when things are starting to piece together.

“No time at all,” he says, practically whispers.

***

When he next goes up to the rooftop, it’s the day he’s flying back to Cuba. Keith is already there, staring at the campus that’s beginning to awaken.

“You ready for your flight?” Keith calls out without even looking at him.

Lance huffs as he sits beside him. “Awfully presumptuous of you to assume it was me. I could have been anybody.”

“Only other person who knows about this place is Shiro, and he has lighter footsteps that you.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Keith sniggers. “Nothing at all.”

Lance leans his head on Keith shoulder. Watches their breath in the cold air. “I’m excited to see everyone again.”

“I’m sure they’re excited to see you too.”

They listen to the noise of the campus below them, of collections of chatter and the birds and the wind.

“When’s your flight?” Keith asks.

“Few hours.”

“Stay safe, yeah?”

Lance almost snorts. “Yeah, because I can control –“

Something within him suddenly clicks.

_If it’ll keep you safe._

He straightens up.

_Forget me._

He thinks he hears Keith’s faint voice calling his name. He closes his eyes.

_Ends of the earth._

“Oh my God.”

It all comes in a rush.

The cave, the lion. _Keith_.

He remembers.

“Lance, you’re kinda scaring me.”

Lance turns to him, puts both his gloved hands on Keith’s cheeks, making him pucker his lips like a fish. “I remember!”

Keith’s eyes widen. “Lance?”

He feels like he could explode. “I _remember_!”

Those beautiful indigo eyes.

He remembers everything.

Wait.

“Oh, you asshole,” he exclaims, but he says it around a huff of laughter. Takes his hands off of Keith’s face. Points an accusatory finger at him instead. “You knew I liked you this whole time!”

The look of shock shifts into one of pure happiness, pure joy. It’s better than any sunset, any ocean view. “ _Lance_.”

“I confessed to you back in that damn cave, and you knew this _whole time_!”

To think, he was going to confess to Keith _again_.

Keith pulls him into a sudden and tight hug.

“Well,” Lance says into Keith’s hair, “at least now I know you’ve liked me this whole time, too.”

Keith puts so much force in the hug that they end up toppled over, lying side by side in their massive winter jackets and winter scarves. Keith tucks a loose strand of Lance’s hair behind his ear.

“I love you, Lance. Hard not to.”

And what else could he do, if not kiss him?

It’s a little awkward in their position, but it tastes like warmth and feels like home.

So he does it again. And again. And again and again and again.

Gives him another quick chaste kiss after they part.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Lance confesses.

“Me too.”

He leans his forehead on Keith’s. They stay like that for a while.

“I love you too, Keith. So much.”

Keith pulls him in for another kiss, and they lose hours on that rooftop, giggling and kissing and cuddling. It’s perfect.

***

When they finally leave the rooftop, they walk back to Lance’s apartment, hand in hand. He’d be embarrassed at the fact that he took his gloves off just to do so, but so did Keith, so all he feels is unadulterated delight.

“I’ll bring you back to Cuba, one day,” Lance says as he stands at his door. Keith has him crowded, his hands on Lance’s hips.

“Yeah?”

“Yep,” he says, placing his hands on Keith’s arms. “My mom would love you. My cousins would never shut up about you, especially if you let them braid your hair. Veronica would be annoying but I feel like you guys would get along really well, for some reason.”

When Keith chuckles, Lance can feel the vibration in his chest, and he’s very glad that Keith is holding on to him. “I’d really like that.”

They part with a kiss and a lasting hug. The noises of the street around them is merely white noise; this point in time, where two bodies collide, is their little moment, their little bubble. This feeling, this snap of an everlasting memory - it is theirs. Something worth holding on to with all of their might.

“Until next time, Mullet.”

Keith laughs, then gives him one final kiss. There is no welcome of white light this time, just the feeling of love.

He closes his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are.....at the end. Thank you so much for reading! This took a few months to write, a few months of love and writers block, and I have to once again thank my friend Shebo for helping me through it all......your comments on the side of the word document were inspiring lmao
> 
> (Spoilers warning if anyone skipped to the end lol) Just to clear something up because I didn't think it felt right to shove an explanation into the story (didn't think it flowed very well): the reason Keith's back at the Garrison is because Blue sent him back to the point of most change for him - his date of expulsion. That was the day that sent him away and, inevitably, caused him to find the lion. When he got sent back, he knew immediately what had happened and made the choice to not get expelled. 
> 
> Thank you guys!! Leave a comment or kudos (or both lol) if you enjoyed it and see you next time!


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